Knight in a Shining Apron
by Slightly Sinister Sinestra
Summary: AU. No HBP, no end of Ootp. Molly fixes Severus up after an Order meeting, and he suddenly finds himself with one hell of a knight in shining armour.
1. Confrontations & Discovery

Disclaimer: HP not mine. (Not even Severus, more's the pity)

Summary: AU. Happily ignores HBP and the end of Ootp. Molly fixes Severus up after an Order meeting, and he suddenly finds himself with one hell of a knight in shining armour.

Chapter 1: Confrontations and Discovery

Molly leaned back in her chair, arms folded, watching the debacle that the Order meeting was fast becoming. At its centre, as always, was Severus Snape. The spy stood, stony-faced and fists clenched, grimly going through his report on the earlier Death Eater rally. Albus listened attentively, as did Alastor, but in the latter's case, this was purely to pick up ammunition for a fight. Backed up by Sirius and Tonks, the grisled Auror flung a barrage of questions at the beleagured spy, picking at the report, pressing and harrassing the man. Severus steadfastly ignored the insults and interruptions, and once the report was done he sat, staring straight ahead, his permanent scowl fixed permanently in place. And Molly caught the tell-tale shine of blood, almost invisible on the black robes.

She stared. The stain was barely noticeable if you didn't know what you were looking at. Only through experience of years of laundry for six somewhat adventurous sons had she been able to pick up on it. But though it was near invisible, it was _huge_. His shoulder and most of the right side of his robes were saturated. She looked at him in horror. What the _hell_ was he doing, sitting here arguing with those idiots if he was so badly injured! Letting them harrass him when blood was seeping over half his robes? Bloody hell! No! This was _not_ continuing!

She stood abruptly, drawing all gazes to herself. Alastor shut up mid-attack. They stared at her, and she glared right back. 'Right! Meeting's over. Alastor, go have a tactical meeting in the drawing room or something. All of you, bugger off! Except you!' She swung, pointing at Severus, who merely raised a questioning eyebrow. Half a second for it to sink in, and the rest of the Order was on its feet, babbling questions. But she hadn't lived for years in the madhouse that was the burrow for nothing. 'SHUT UP!' she roared. A stunned silence descended.

She marched into the centre of the room. 'I've had enough!' she stated. 'There is absolutely no point in sitting here listening to you lot arguing like a bunch of children. Since you seem incapable of keeping your tempers for five minutes, you can all just leave! Severus, I want a private word with you, so you're staying.' Severus, the only one still seated, save Albus, simply nodded, a wry smile on his lips as he looked over the chastened Order members. One of her patented 'sabre-toothed tiger' glares, and they dispersed, muttering and grumbling. A moment later, Albus stood, smiling benignly, and left with considerably more grace.

Which left her alone with Severus. Quickly, she charmed the door closed and cast an anti-eavesdropping charm, checking for her sons' extendable ears as she did so. Satisfied, she turned. The spy was watching her warily, still sitting. But that made sense, since he was injured. It would be stupid to aggravate the wound further. Of course, it would have been far more sensible to stay at home to treat it, and not come here at all. But had he done that, Alastor would probably have smashed his door in.

So. 'How bad is it?' He blinked. 'Don't even try it,' she warned. 'I saw the blood. For crying out loud, it only covers about half your robes! So don't you dare tell me you don't know what I mean.' He shifted uneasily, looking for all the world like Fred or George after she'd caught them at one of their pranks: surprised and faintly embarrassed that someone had caught on to them. Strangely, it looked right on the usually grim spy. She laughed, eliciting a curious look from the seated man, but no comment. He had yet to speak at all. Concerned, she moved to him. He flinched slightly, and she checked her approach. 'Show me,' she commanded gently.

He shook his head. 'I think not,' he said quietly. 'I don't wish to get blood all over the floor. Black would probably use it to curse me.' She snorted, recognising Severus' particular brand of gallows humour. Though at times, watching Sirius launch at Severus over nothing, she couldn't help but wonder if maybe the spy had a point. But that aside, she wasn't letting Severus weasle out so easily. 'Now, that's a pathetic excuse, and you know it. As if I'd leave a stain on this floor after I cleaning it two days ago. Show me, so I can help fix it up.' He dipped his head, hidding his face in a curtain of hair. 'You cannot fix this, Molly. Not all. Not enough. Let it be.' It wasn't a command, or even a statement. It was almost a plea, but not for her to leave. For her to find a way to fix this unfixable thing. For her to try. Severus would never ask, not directly. That didn't mean she didn't understand. It didn't mean she wouldn't still try her best to help.

Slowly, gently, she moved in and cautiously opened the top button of his high-necked robe, nudging his chin up in the process. He was stunned, staring at her with a confused, and ever so slightly hopeful, expression that nearly undid her. How many of these carefully disguised pleas had she missed, in her concern for others? How many times had he come in here injured, in pain, and nobody noticed? He was always the last person anyone thought of, unless it was to blame him for something. She smiled sadly. 'May I?' she asked, hands hovering over the buttons. Slowly, warily, he nodded.

Moving briskly, but carefully, she opened the top half of his robe, baring a blood-soaked shirt, with a bandage tied hastily underneath it. The little work that Severus had managed was hurriedly done, but neat, speaking of long practice. If he'd had a few minutes more to prepare before coming here, the bandage would probably have held, and she would never have known of this injury. She smiled bitterly, thinking that she could thank Alastor for that. Carefully, she pulled the shirt over his head and peeled back the bandage. It pulled at some fresh scar tissue. It seemed that their spy was a fast healer, or had used on of his potions. She glanced up at his face, to see if she'd hurt him. He merely looked at her, showing no sign that he was in pain. But he never did.

She examined the wound. Or rather, wounds. A long gash, fairly deep, ran along his rib under his right arm. This seemed to be the source of most of the blood. The stain on the shoulder came from another cut, with strange burns along its edges. Around these, heavy purple bruising mottled his chest, and from the blueing along two of his lower ribs, it looked as though they were broken. Molly drew in a hissing breath. She hadn't known what to expect, but the ... brutality ... of these wounds was something else. She traced her finger in the air above the shoulder wound, wondering at the burns that edged it. He followed her gaze. 'Whip,' he said quietly. She snatched her hand back as if scalded. 'What!' she gasped. 'It's from a whip,' he repeated. 'The burns come from the friction of the lash on the skin. The Dark Lord has a curious fondness for Muggle tortures. I got off easy this tme, though. Wormtail bore the brunt of tonight's temper tantrum.' Molly could only stare, horrified. He met her gaze, something unreadable in his eyes. 'I can take care of this myself, at Hogwarts, if you'd prefer it.'

She shook herself. 'No. No, don't do that. I can handle this.' She took a deep breath. She _could_ handle it. She had to. 'So. This would account for those gaps in your account that Madeye pounced on, yes? This ... temper tantrum?' He smiled darkly, sadness in his eyes. 'In short, yes. I also skipped the execution of a Muggle prisoner. Thankfully, the boy never knew what hit him. A straight Avada Kedavra. He was lucky.' She didn't answer, busying herself with water and cloth. But she had to wonder, if death was 'lucky', what was it that their spy faced on a regular basis that made him see it so. If these wounds were what he considered 'light', then she didn't really want to know. But she wouldn't back down now, not after seeing this. She'd take care of him, if no-one else would.

'Severus?' He looked at her. 'You'll come to me, won't you? Next time? Don't try to fix it yourself, though I can see you're good at that too. At least let me know. I won't be able to rest, otherwise. Please?' He closed his eyes wearily, and didn't answer for a long moment, while she watched him worriedly. Then he sighed. 'If you want me to. But I don't see the point in disturbing you so often.' Often? This happened often? Well, now she definitely wouldn't rest easy. 'Disturb me as often as you need to. I would truly prefer it to endless worrying. Promise me you'll tell me if you've been hurt. Promise?' He opened his eyes and stared, then smiled cautiously. 'Of course, Molly. As you wish.'

She let him go half an hour later, after she'd done as much as she could for him. He walked sedately out of the house, ignoring grumbled remarks as he passed, leaving her with his promise, and a place in her heart next to her children. She smiled. She'd have to tell Arthur that she'd adopted herself another son, in spirit at least. She'd have to get the clock redone, with a new hand. For Severus Snape.

I know, I know, I have to continue Unchained Love. And I really should study for my exams. I shouldn't start another chapter fic. But the idea came, and it had to be written. So poopy! R&R?


	2. Flung Gauntlet

Disclaimer: See previous chapter

Sirius gets shirty with Molly over Severus. _Not_ a wise move.

By the by, I think this fic is dedicated to the one who inspired it. Excessivelyperky, darling, take a bow.

Chapter 2: Flung Gauntlet

Severus stormed through the London streets, his thunderous expression discouraging several would-be muggers, who wisely left him to search for less homocidal targets. Why in Merlin's name couldn't Albus meet him at Hogwarts? They bloody _lived_ there! But no! The old bastard thought he should _get to know _people, learn to _get on_ with the Order! The only thing he wanted to _get on_ with was Black's murder. And the sooner the bloody better.

He paused at the end of the street to compose himself, to draw in place his mask, before approaching Grimmauld Place. Cool, calm. Not a hair out of place that wasn't meant to be. It was unwise to show unease in front of rabid dogs, after all. If he could master himself in front of Lucius, he could damn well do it in front of Black. He eased open the door, long habit making him silent. Before the portrait could so much as open her mouth, a well calibrated glare shut her up. The old bat knew better than to mess with him. Pity the same couldn't be said of her descendants.

Inside, he followed the sounds towards the kitchen. No. The dining room. Damn! Of course, Albus probably thought a meal in company would 'break the ice', or some such nonsense. Black obviously hadn't informed him of the 'door-right only' clause of their professional relationship. He couldn't eat in this house. He couldn't even sit down to a meal. Normally he could pretend to eat if he had a place at a table, but Black hadn't deigned to grant him even that. Molly was going to be really insulted. That, he regretted more than a missed meal. He didn't eat much anyway, but he rather valued his tentative friendship with the Weasley matriarch. Damn bloody Black.

Well. Once more into the breach, dear friend. Though he seemed to spend most of his time in one bloody breach or another. There were times when he felt that someone on high really had it in for him. Pretty much all the time, in fact.

Silence descended as he entered the room. He swept his gaze over the company. Raven hair: Potter and his godfather. Lupin's brown. A healthy sprinkling of Weasley red. And Tonks' neon pink, of course. No sign of snowy white. The Headmaster had yet to arrive, then. Which meant he had to entertain this lot until the man decided to drop by. What _fun._

'Albus informed me that he would be here. I've news for him.' No hope that the wayward Headmaster was hiding under the table or something, but he might as well ask. As expected, it was Black who stood to answer, a sneer on his lips. 'Well, he's not here yet. You want to climb back under your rock to wait? Only, we're eating here, and you put me off.' Severus felt his lip curl in automatic response. 'I highly doubt it, Black. Everyone knows that dogs will eat anything, and I fear Molly's cooking would be too much for you to resist, even if the Dark Lord himself were to show up.' Not bad. An insult to Black, backed onto Lupin, and a compliment for Molly to round it off. Who said he'd lost his touch?

'I suppose you _can_ resist, then? Severus?' Molly asked politely, a warning glint in her eye. He swept a bow in her direction. 'Madam, gods could not resist your cooking. But I prefer to savour it in other company. If one wants to keep one's meal, one should not dine in the company of rabid beasts.' At that, Black surged out of his seat, sending his chair flying. He was around the table and nearly upon Severus before anyone thought to act. Severus merely smirked.

'Just who do you think you are, _Snivellus_? Lucius Malfoy? Oh, that's right. Learned a bit from our precious boyfriend, did we? Well, toddle back to your master, whore, and leave us in peace. You are not welcome here.' Black spat. If he hadn't already been bone-pale, Severus would have blanched. How in hell did Black know ... But he couldn't. It was merely an insult. He couldn't know of what Lucius had done. No-one did. He couldn't possibly ...

'SIRIUS BLACK!' Both men startled at Molly's roar of fury. The rotund woman descended on Black like the wrath of God, sparks fairly flashing from her eyes. Her wand was still holstered. She didn't need it. Her magic poured from her in waves with the force of her anger, and Black quailed. Behind her, Severus could see several Weasleys ducking for cover, followed by the smarter members of the remaining Order. Arthur merely stood back, a faint smile hovering over his face. It seemed he enjoyed watching his wife work. Severus had to admit, it was a truly impressive sight.

She stopped inches away, her body held rigid. Her eyes flashed as she began to speak in a low, dangerous tone. 'Sirius Black. If you ever, _ever_ insult Severus like that again, you will regret it. Do you actually think that you can casually harrass _anyone_ the way you do him, and get away with it? Mark my words. The next insulting word from your mouth, and you cook your own food. You clean your own laundry. You shop for yourself. If you can't accomplish this, you'll just have to starve. _I am not joking._ Anything I cook, clean, or make will be forbidden you. _Do I make myself clear?'_ The frankly terrified man hurriedly nodded, cringing away from her. Like a cowering dog, Severus thought wryly. Truly, the woman had a gift.

She turned on him, and he braced for his share of the punishment. It was well worth it, to see Black cowed so. But her eyes were no longer glowing dangerously. In that one second as she turned, the Valkyrie faded from her, leaving the friendly woman who greeted him. Severus watched the transformation with awe. He wondered idly what Arthur had had to do to woo this Fury in woman form. He must be far braver than he let on, to have even gotten close. He made a mental note to be as careful to stay on Arthur's good side as Molly's. It was obvious that you _did not mess_ with the Weasleys.

'Will you be staying for dinner, Severus?' She smiled at him. The corner of his mouth quirked upwards in response. 'I think not, Molly.' He surveyed the room: the overturned chairs, the heads peeping cautiously out from underneath the table. 'I think I've caused enough disruption for one day.' She laughed, and he was enchanted anew by the warmth of it. This woman could lift anyone's spirits. He glanced over at Arthur, who shared a knowing smile with him. _I know, boyo. _He seemed to say. _Why do you think I married her?_

'Oh dear,' came an amused voice from the doorway. 'Have I missed something?' Albus asked. 'Albus, you've missed the whole circus,' Molly replied.

Voila! Chapter 2. Things get a touch darker next ch, I think. Probably Arthur's POV. That man sees more than he lets on.


	3. Together

You know, Arthur Weasley is a most neglected character. So, time for him to have the spotlight. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: yada yada yada, don't own HP.

Chapter 3: Together

Arthur stamped into the gloomy kitchen of Grimmauld Place. He was tired. Very tired. He'd had another row with Percy at work. Quite a vicious one, actually. Percy could be quite vindictive at times. But Arthur couldn't blame him. This deception was wearing on both of them, and how much worse for his boy, having to toady up to that self-righteous, arrogant bastard of a Minister. Arthur had a reputation for patience, for being mild-mannered, but he knew he couldn't have stood it the way Perce did.

But it couldn't be helped. He could get low level info, because no-one thought to guard their tongues around mad, muggle-loving Arthur, and Alastor had the Auror beat, but they needed someone higher. The task had fallen to Percy, and he excelled at it. But it hurt, that so many, even Percy's own brothers, mistook that powerful sense of justice and duty for 'toadying'. It hurt that his son's own family couldn't see the truth of his position, of his sacrifice.

'Arthur?' Molly's voice came from behind him. He turned to her, to her concerned, encouraging face. Even that much, just the sight of her, eased the tension in his shoulders. It always did. The warmth she emanated, the smile only for him, all that was her, comforted him as nothing else could. Even her raging tempers only entranced him. She was his wife, his Valkyrie, his life.

A smile slipped goofily onto his features, and she answered it with a radient beam of her own. She looked at him knowingly, feeling the gist of his thoughts. She was a wonderful empath, his Mollywobbles. She always knew what he was thinking, feeling. She always understood.

'Percy?' she asked. He nodded wearily. She grimaced, sitting down beside him. 'How is he?'

He shrugged. 'As well as he can be. It's getting to him though. He's more snappish than ever, and rigidly polite. He's controlling his temper with ice, rather than Weasley fire, and it's wearing on him. This spying game, it's tormenting him. We never raised him to hide the truth so deeply, to live a lie.' He sighed. 'He'll make it, but I can't help but wonder what it'll cost him in the long run.'

Molly laid a hand on his arm, leaning against his shoulder. 'Percy will get through this alright. He's strong. We never raised our sons to be weak, either. Or our daughter, for that matter. Spy or no, he's still Weasley. He's one of ours. He'll make it.'

Arthur slipped his arm around her shoulder, holding her close, savouring her warmth and strength. She was right, of course. Nothing gave him faith like her. She was the strongest of them all.

'On the subject of spies ...' she began hesitantly.

'I know. I'll fix the clock.'

'...Will he make it?'

'He's strong too. Probably.'

'He's fighting all three sides, just to exist. Is he strong enough?'

'Maybe. We'll do what we can.'

'I'm going to make it two sides. I'll not let the Order get away with this .. persecution. It's not right! After all he's done for them!'

He laughed. He couldn't help it. He'd watched her, the other day, cutting Sirius down to size in defense of Severus. He'd known then that they'd accuired another son. She only went into full Valkyrie mode for the sake of family. Or at family, but that was something different. He'd seen the boy's confusion, and frank admiration, and had a flash of fellow feeling. It was always worth it to see Molly in a fury, even if it was directed at you. It was just something you had to admire. And fear, of course. A little healthy respect never did anyone any harm.

He looked at her, at his fierce, proud queen, and rejoiced. There was that spark in her eye, that anger and love and hunger, all mixed into something hot and powerful. A thrill of excitment rippled through him. Suddenly he didn't feel quite so tired. Now, if there was a private room somewhere hereabouts ...

'Pardon. Am I interrupting?' rasped a voice from the doorway. They spun towards the sound, then caught their breath in horror. Severus stood there, leaning heavily on the doorframe for support, naked and bleeding. He looked at them impassively, one eyebrow quirked upwards in his traditional questioning manner, looking horribly out of place against the mask of blood. His left arm ended in a stump, just below the elbow, the wound cauterised by a massive burn.

'_Severus!'_ Molly breathed, horrified. She ran towards him, while Arthur hurriedly cleared the table, making room to lay him down. Severus winced in pain as Molly pulled him to her, shifting his support from the door to her shoulder, but he made no sound. Arthur slipped under his other arm, and together he and Molly steered the battered man to the table. Rather than hurt him more lifting him, Arthur levitated his surogate son onto the surface. Molly smoothed black hair back from a sweat-streaked forehead. 'Oh Severus ...' Molly whispered.

Severus looked up at her, something unreadable in his eyes. It looked like gratitude, but tempered by something else. Something like ... fear. Arthur clasped the remaining hand gently, heart aching. Molly was crying. He could tell without even looking at her. Severus looked at her tears in wonder for a moment, then turned to Arthur.

'I .. I rather think the Dark Lord knows about me,' he said quietly, a pained smirk flickering across his features. Arthur nodded warily. 'Tell ... tell Albus. Had ... to get here. Had to warn you. Tell him.'

Arthur nodded, and started to pull away, thinking not to get Dumbledore, but a healer. Albus could wait. But Severus held his wrist tightly, and he couldn't move. He touched the clenched fingers gently. Severus blinked at them in surprise. 'I ... I'm sorry. I just ...' He trailed off, mumbling too low to hear.

'What was that, Severus?' he asked gently. The look that the injured man gave him tore his heart in two. 'I didn't want to die alone,' Severus whispered.

The world froze for a long, torturous moment. Arthur's breath halted in his chest, unable to move past the lump in his throat. He stared in terrified understanding at Molly. Her face was full of compassion, and sorrow. A world of meaning, of hurt, in one small sentance. This child had been abandoned too long.

A clatter of movement sounded in the hall. The Order had cottoned on, at least to the fact that Severus was back. They were probably looking to harrass him. Severus stiffened, taunt muscles pulling at injuries. Fear flashed in his face, too worn by pain to hide it. Rage exploded through Arthur.

'You're not dying! Not yet. I'll get a healer, and until I return, Molly will stay with you. Do you hear? You're not going to die yet! And don't worry about those bastards outside! They will _not_ bother you. Not while we're here. Understand?'

He didn't wait for affirmation, but strode to the fireplace, summoning Poppy brusquely through the Floo. Then, incensed, he strode out into the hall, right into the path of the oncoming crowd. The usual suspects headed it, of course. Sirius, Alastor, Albus. Even the blasted Headmaster, the man Severus had fought injury and oncoming death to see, was coming with his enemies to question him. But not on Arthur's watch.

'Don't you even think it,' he hissed, wand out and stance aggressive. 'Don't you even think to disturb them.' They halted, stunned. Albus moved forward to placate him, but Arthur would have none of it, gesturing pointedly with his wand until Dumbledore backed down. Angry murmurs ran through the group, but they hadn't seen anger yet.

'You dare?' Arthur continued, low and deadly. 'You dare to come looking to harrass and question a dying man?' Albus started violently. 'You dare, when he is dying for you, for your cause? When everything he has sacrificed, his freedom, his body, his life, has been for you? You _disgust_ me! You'll not pass. Not now, and not ever again until _I_ say you can. Severus is ours now, Weasley, and we _will_ defend him!'

There was movement among them, and Arthur tensed, ready to fight. But it was his sons that came forward, Fred and George, and silently stood to either side of him, wands out and facing the Order. He glanced at them questioningly. Fred smiled. 'Weasleys to the end. Together. If you and Mum say he's one of us, then anyone who wants to hurt him goes through us.' 'And no-one gets through us!' his twin piped in. Grinning malevolently, the pair turned back to the prospective fight. Pride swelled in Arthur's chest, but it was small compared to his concern. Truly, anyone who challenged him on this would face the full wrath of the Weasley clan.

They defended their own. To the end.

Wow! Chapter 3 done. Definitely a return to darkness. Arthur is awesome! Try writing him. Do! It's such fun. Next ch, War of the Weasleys!


	4. Declaration of War

Switching POV again. It's a habit of mine. Back to Molly for this chapter. Enjoy!

Chapter 4: Declaration of War

Molly clung to him, hugged his ragged form to herself. He was conscious, but only barely. He was in pain, such terrible pain, and she couldn't do anything. The only way she knew to spare him the pain was to put him to sleep, but if she did that, would he wake again? She couldn't take that risk. Poppy was on her way. Arthur had called her. The mediwitch would know what to do. She had to.

Outside she could hear the commotion, the shock as Arthur stood against the Order in defense of Severus. Her warrior stood facing them, her sons at his side. They would defend him, keep Severus safe until help came.

She rocked him, murmuring the nonsense things she always said when her children were hurt, that it would be all right, that she'd make it all better, that everything would be ok in just a little while. She didn't believe it, didn't know if things could ever be alright, but she said those little things anyway, for his sake. She knew that he never believed those lies either. It was more that she wanted someone to say them for him, for someone to care enough to try those little white lies for him. She wanted him to not ... to not be alone if it was the end. She wanted him to know that she cared.

He began to murmur softly, telling her things. She leant close to listen, cradling his head on her shoulder. He told her simple things, things he liked. Gathering potions ingredients, brewing complex masterpieces, talking to Hagrid and Fang on patrol in the Forbidden Forest, tasting her concoctions that she made a habit of sending him. She understood what he was trying to do. He was returning the gift, giving her pieces of his life that meant something, in return for her care.

Poppy appeared at her side. Severus didn't notice. He was fading, slipping in and out, only clinging to life through sheer stubbornness. She willed him on, willed him to keep fighting, as she turned to look desperately at the healer. Poppy met her gaze for a brief moment, understanding plain, before she bent to examine the body in her arms. Gently, the mediwitch pulled him from Molly's arms, laying him flat. He whimpered, reaching back. She placed her hand in his, letting him cling. The mediwitch ran through a diagnostic quietly, listing off the wounds, before sending him into a healing coma.

The healer nodded gravely at her. 'I'll do all I can. He'll make it. He knows how to.' Molly could only nod helplessly.

Leaving Severus in Poppy's care, she moved to join her husband. She could do no more for Severus as things stood, but by gods could she do something about this ... this debacle! All but growling, she strode to Arthur's side. The front line wilted visibly under her furious glare, struggling to back up. Fred and George stood to either side of them, creating a wall of red-haired fury between the Order and their injured companion. Identical thunderous expressions graced all four faces.

Albus moved forwards, slightly crouched, instinctively trying to present a smaller target. 'Is ... Is he alright?' the old man asked tremulously. He looked genuinely concerned, but whether for Severus, or for the spy they stood to lose, Molly wasn't sure. She didn't trust any of them with him now.

'Alright?' she began, low and venemous. Albus recoiled. 'He is in a healing coma, barely clinging to life. He has lost far too much blood. There is little or no skin left on his back, and he has severe internal injuries. He no longer bears the dark mark, you'll be pleased to hear. They cut his arm off just below the elbow. Seems traitors and spies are not worthy to bear his design. Pity, hmmm? Now you've nothing to pin your hatred for him on.'

Sirius started to speak, to disclaim any hatred, but she wouldn't allow it, turning her rage on him directly. 'You were right, by the way, Sirius. You should be pleased. It seems there is evidence for sexual relations. Most of the internal injuried stem from assault. From rape. Some seem to be opened scars. Congratulations.' He turned away, sickened. She felt exactly the same.

Arthur stood closer, shoulder to shoulder with her, giving her silent support. The fury he had displayed earlier was replaced by a deep sorrow. Her sons also gathered close, hot anger and fierce sorrow in their expressive faces. Her trickster twins felt for the wily spy more so than any of their siblings, because they had been closest to him, through the search for the perfect prank potion. They stood with her, but with Severus also. He truly was a Weasley now.

Wands aloft, the Weasleys advanced, forcing the crowd back before them, driving the shamed Order away from the kitchen and its helpless occupant. Faces grim, they herded the others into the living room, closing the door behind them. Her family pulled back, guarding the entrance, giving her centre stage.

She drew herself up, eyes flashing dangerously. All eyes were on her. Good.

'Let me make some things clear. Severus is dying. Poppy may be able to pull him back, and I know that he will fight to his last breath to survive, if only to spite the Death Eaters, and you.' Alastor opened his mouth. A glance, and he shut it again. 'If he survives, and gods, he will, then there _will_ be changes!'

She glared around at them. 'First, _we _will take care of him, and you will give us every aid in doing so. He has sacrificed everything for you, and you have repaid him with abuse. It is the _least_ you owe him. Second, you will not question him on what has happened.' She saw Alastor's protest forming, and cut across it. 'No! You will not force him to relive that horror. He told us, with what could easily have been his last breath, to tell you that he had been discovered as a spy. He has nothing more to offer, and you will not attempt to take any more. Understand?' It seemed that they did.

She glanced at Arthur. He nodded. 'Finally ... Severus will not be returning to you. Not unless he wishes to. He is ours now, and as soon as he is healed, he will be staying with us. None of you, not even Albus, will have control of him again. He has given enough to this war, and deserves reprieve, in life or ... in death. You will have no further influence on his decisions.'

Her family nodded, sealing their agreement. With varying degrees of willingness, so did the rest of the Order. She had their agreement, at least for now. There was nothing else she could do now, except wait for Poppy's word. She'd done all she could to give Severus something to come back to. It was up to him now.

The next couple of hours were the most agonising of her life, waiting for news, waiting to know, one way or another. They kept the Order in the room, thinking with a paranoia worthy of Alastor himself, to keep them away from Severus, just in case. The sullen, worried atmosphere in the room did nothing to ease her nerves. It was Arthur's presence alone that kept her from collapse. He knew, understood, and was simply there, for all of them. He was the rock on which she founded her hope.

'Mum,' George said softly. She turned. 'She's coming,' he said, nodding towards the door. All of them braced for the news, expecting the worst and hoping desperately for good news. At last, Poppy entered. She stood, looking at them in silence long enough for dread to grow in Molly's heart. Then she spoke.

'He'll live.'

Well, I couldn't leave him die, could I? What do you all think? R&R? I need it to get the next chapter started. Thanking you!


	5. Repercussions

OK, update. There were people concerned last chapter by Molly's revealing of Snape's condition. This ch, we get to see Severus' reaction to it. And I'd like to thank excessivelyperky for the medicinal brandy idea. Enjoy!

Chapter 5: Repercussions

Severus lay on his back, thankfully in an actual bed, and listened as Molly and Poppy got plastered in the next room. He'd woken about twenty minutes before, and automatically scanned his surroundings. Picking up on their interesting, if decidedly drunken, conversation, he'd declined to announce his presence.

Both women were obviously deeply upset, which gave him a twinge of regret, but his primary concern was Molly's description of events after his collapse. _Collapse? Trip to death's door, more like._ He ignored that voice. A truthful assessment of his injuries had never helped him before. And since that was exactly what Molly, well-meaning though she was, had given his enemies among the Order, he was in serious trouble.

He levered himself painfully up, wincing as the scars on his back pulled. But at least he still had a back to scar. Always a good thing, from his point of view. Staggering slightly, disguising it hurriedly, he moved out into the hall, stopping outside their door. Listening carefully, he cautiously opened the door, slipping inside on silent feet. The two ladies sat slumped in chairs, a bottle of brandy, nearly empty, between them. It was medicinal brand, not particularly smooth, but potent. To be honest, you could use it to corrode metal. They were definitely showing the effects.

He caught Poppy's unsteady gaze, eyebrow raised in askance. She blinked confusedly at him for a moment, before her healer's instincts kicked in over the influence of drink, and she lunged forwards clumsily.

'Severus! What are you doing!' At her shout, Molly swung towards him. He could feel a smirk forming.

'What does it look like I'm doing? I'm standing here like an idiot watching my healer get drunk. _Without me!_ How could you?'

'You're supposed to be unconscious! In fact, by all rights, you're supposed to be dead! There is no way you should be able to get up within a day of that kind of treatment! Get back to bed!'

Ignoring her command, he flowed into the centre of the room, making a conscious effort to be graceful, both to disguise the interuption to his gait due to injury, and to mock their swaying movements. He was in a mood to be petty. He felt he'd earned it.

'Actually, it's my 'treatment' that I wished to speak to you about,' he stated calmly, seating himself slowly on the chair Poppy had vacated in her furious lunge. 'I couldn't help but overhear your conversation, and I'm frankly rather concerned.' They blinked at him, waiting while their alcohol-fuddled brains processed that sentance. It really was potent brandy. Impatient, he muttered a temporary wandless clarity spell, lacking the power for a more permanent solution.

'Ugh..' Molly muttered. He snorted, reclining cautiously back, needing to rest, but wary of touching his back off of anything. Now slightly more sober, Poppy picked up on that like a hawk spotting prey. She glared pointedly at him. He ignored that too, turning his gaze on Molly.

'You revealed my condition? To the whole Order?' he asked quietly.

She blinked. 'Of course. They deserved to know what they were responsible for. They had to see the sacrifices others were making on their behalf. They had no right to treat you as they did, and someone had to show them the cost of their actions. They deserved it!'

He struggled with the fury that rose. She couldn't know. She had no experience of the way things were fought among these people. She didn't know what she'd done. But surely, with five sons, she should know what happened when your weaknesses were revealed to your rivals.

'What have I done to them, that they deserve to know how to hurt me? How have I wounded them, that they should know how to destroy me? I do not understand what I have done that would make you think it fair to reveal to them my weaknesses. How have I betrayed you, that you should betray me this way?' He met her eyes, showing clearly his confusion and anger.

She sat forwards. He braced, for anger or sorrow. He wasn't sure what he could expect. But she surprised him.

'You think that of me?' she asked disgustedly, pained. 'You think I would do this to harm you? How dare you! Do you know how anxious we've been? How afraid for you? What did you think, that we were drunk in celebration? WE'VE BEEN SITTING HERE TERRIFIED YOU'LL NEVER WAKE! How dare you speak of hurt! Do you know how much we've hurt because now we know what you've suffered that we never knew! THEY DESERVED TO KNOW! They deserve to be the ones feeling this pain! For what they've done, they deserve to suffer!'

He never knew she could be so vehement, particularly in defense of him. But she didn't understand. She didn't see what a dangerous position she'd put him in.

'They won't. Suffer, I mean. It probably pleased them, if not that I'd been hurt, then because they had a new weapon to use against me. You don't understand. I've no wish to spend my days in Azkaban getting midnight visits from randy Aurors with a grudge! Sirius already attacked me with a mere _suspicion_. What will he do now it's proven? I didn't want to be free of the Death Eater's assaults, only to offer the Order a chance to emulate them! Without a useful position in the Order, what will I become? The mutt's punchbag _whore_! I'd rather you let me die!'

He reached out angrily for the brandy bottle, with his left hand. A hand that was no longer there. Caught, he stared at the stump, quiet horror building insistently until it demanded to be expressed. He bit off an anguished moan, vision blurred with sudden, involuntary tears. Despair, familiar, aching, filled him. He barely noticed Poppy and Molly kneeling beside him.

'Severus,' Poppy murmured. 'Oh Severus. I couldn't save it. Had you ... had you brought the hand with you, I could have reattached it, but the burning prevented regrowth of the limb. I couldn't save it. I'm so sorry.'

'Severus, I didn't realise what you would feel about my telling them. But you have to realise, Arthur, Poppy and I would never let anyone in the Order hurt you that way.' Molly tried to explain. 'You ... you're one of ours now. You don't have to see the Order ever again if you don't want to. We'll find a way to protect you. We can send you to Charlie, or help you find a place somewhere else. We'll protect you. Please believe that. You really are safe with us.'

Breathing slowing and deeply to calm himself, Severus forced himself to think logically. If she said it, she meant it. He didn't doubt her word. But whether she had it in her power or not to do as she said was a different story. As for his hand ... He'd simply have to adjust. He'd known, the moment Voldemort had incendio'd the limb, that there was no hope of retrieval. It would be a simple matter to adjust his pattern to compensate. He'd always had ways of going without most things. His hand was simply a bigger thing to lose than he'd initially expected. And until he got used to it, he could compensate with magic.

Logic was a wonderful thing, really. There was a logical way to convince yourself of anything. He'd always excelled at lying, even to himself. But he'd lived his entire life on lies. What was one more to see him through this?

'Severus?' Molly asked hesitantly.

He looked at her. 'I think ... that maybe I should lie down for a while. I seem to be a bit weak at the moment.' She snorted, but continued to look at him worriedly. He stood, carefully.

'I'll deal with all this later,' he announced quietly. 'I'll just rest for a bit. That's all.'

He wandered shakily out of the room, watched by the twin raptor stares of the healer and the mother. Wandered into the hall, and practically into the arms of Sirius Black. Really, could the day get any better?

Hope that's addressed some of the concerns people had. But the Order weren't the only ones who needed a wake-up call, and Molly is exceptionally good at those. Next ch, I have some fun with Sirius. Till then, have fun, y'all!


	6. Damaged Foe

Am I nasty or what? This ch is from Sirius' POV. I don't actually think the bugger is evil, just a bully. So this might be a tad sympathetic towards him. Enjoy!

Chapter 6: Damaged Foe

Sirius heard the man approach the door, and hastily pulled back. Not fast enough. Snape waltzed out of the room, and almost into him, only avoiding collision through a staggered recoil. The spy reached out to grasp the doorframe to halt his fall, but with the wrong arm. The injured limb struck the wood a glancing blow as he toppled to the floor, landing badly on his back. All this took place before Sirius could even blink, let alone move.

What little colour was in Snape's face fled. He choked back a harsh gasp, lying on the floor staring up at Sirius with unfocused and painfilled eyes. Gasping for breath, he struggled to regain control. Sirius stared in shock, only grasping now how badly injured Snape was. He would have expected a sharp remark, or even a snarl. This man looked incapable of making any sound outside of breathless gasping. Never, _never_, had Snape lain helpless before him. Even hung upside down by his underware, he had fought till the last, sniping and furious.

Sirius crouched down in front of the supine spy, looking him over. Snape tried desperately to focus on him, to regain enough consciousness to fight or even speak. The animagus started to comment, but didn't get very far. Staring down a wand between your eyeballs tends to do that to a person.

'Would you like to explain what has just happened here, Sirius?' Molly's voice was calm and sweet, the tone light. Shit. He was dead meat.

'He .. uh .. He fell. He nearly walked into me, stepped back and, uh, fell. Really.' He didn't think a winning grin would be much use at this point, but it was worth a try. He glanced up at her. At them. All traces of the drunken melancholy he'd heard half an hour earlier when he passed by were gone. In its place was a pair of steely glares worthy of a hardened Auror. Two wands were pointed at him, Molly's between his eyes , and Poppy's ... lower down. Healer? Healer with a mile wide vicious streak.

Next tactic. Distract them. 'He, uh, he doesn't look so good. Maybe you should look at him? You know, fix it?' They really didn't look impressed. Now it looked like they thought he was a lowlife, assaulting numbskull. _Such_ an improvement.

Any upcoming punishment was delayed, however, by a rather terrifying gasping wheeze. Three gazes swung to the figure lying between them. Huge racking shudders juddered the skeletal frame, echoed by harsh gasping, interupted with desperate intakes of air. Sirius leapt back, terrified. He was having some sort of bloody seisure!

Panicked, he tried to pull away, make a run for it. Without a second glance, Molly imobilised him, before leaning down anxiously as Poppy gently manouvered her struggling patient into an upright position to ease his breathing. Normally she would rub the back, to calm him, but she refrained this time. As his airways cleared, the shudders and gasping eased out, and it became clear what Snape was doing.

The bastard was laughing!

Locked in place by the immoblising spell, there wasn't much Sirius could do save splutter furiously. Snape gasped out his cracked laughter regardless, tears running down the sallow face. Sirius shouted obscenities at him. He could never stand to be laughed at. He roared in fury for the bastard to shut up.

But anger rapidly turned to fear again as the insane laughter continued unabated. Molly crouched over Snape, shaking him as roughly as she dared with his injuries, but the man didn't stop. It looked like he couldn't. The laughter was giving way to floods of tears, but the grating sound just wouldn't stop. Losing breath, moaning in pain through the laughter, Snape hunched over. Blood dripped from his mouth.

Sirius lost it. He panicked, way out of his depth, and did the only thing he knew to do with things that scared him. He attacked.

'SHUT THE BLOODY HELL UP, YOU BASTARD! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING! STOP IT! STOP FUCKING LAUGHING! YOU'RE KILLING YOURSELF, AND IT'S NOT GOING TO BE MY FAULT! YOU HEAR ME? I'M NOT GOING TO BE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOU BLOODY LAUGHING YOURSELF TO DEATH!'

He paused, sucking in air in gulping breaths, and listened to the silence. Snape looked at him, serene, laying on his side on the floor, the two women kneeling over him. It was the strangest tableau Sirius had ever laid eyes on.

'Typical, Black,' Snape rasped hoarsely. 'Just typical. I'm dying and all you can think is who'll get the blame. Just like the old days.' He smirked infuriatingly. 'But fair enough. I can deal with you. But gods man, you should have seen your face! You practically went crosseyed! It just ... struck me. You getting blamed, unable to smile your way out of it, and for the first time, actually being innocent. It was simply ... incredibly funny. Unfortunately, laughter isn't very healthy for me right now.'

Sirius glared, angry still, but underneath was something like ... relief. He'd be damned if he'd admit it, but he really never wished the bastard dead. If Snivellus died, who would he spar with?

'Laughter's never been healthy for you, you morbid bastard. Are you surprised it nearly bleedin' killed you? And as for my face, I'd like to see how you'd react if your worst enemy's bloody knights in shining armour pointed a wand between _your_ eyes!'

Snape looked at him strangely. 'What do you mean? You know how I react. You saw it a hundred times, back when you and your pals found hanging me up by my heels a favourite pastime. Or do you mean _my_ worst enemy? If so, then I usually react by crumpling in pain. Not screaming, though. I've never done that. Then if I'm still alive, I tend to stagger back to somewhere reasonably safe, and fix what damage I can. I have never, to my knowledge, displayed a most comically crosseyed expression of terror. In less merciful circles, that would undoubtedly get one killed. Does that answer your question?'

Sirius tasted bile in his throat. He was viscerally reminded of Snape's opinion of what would happen now, voiced only minutes earlier to the two women. The man was not what any of them had thought him to be.

'I wouldn't, you know,' he said quietly. Snape raised an eyebrow. 'I wouldn't hurt you that way. I know I've don't some pretty rough things, especially to you, and that's not likely to stop any time soon. You're just too damn annoying. But I'm not ... I'm not like them. If I ever start to become that way, I'll off myself. I mean that. I'm not a bloody rapist, or a torturing bastard like Malfoy. You don't need to be worried on that score, at least not from me. I swear it.'

Snape looked at him appraisingly, something undefinable in his eyes. The silence stretched out, sharp as a Slytherin tongue. Finally, Sirius could bear it no longer.

'Besides, there's not a sane man here or elsewhere that'd tangle with you now you've got your own bleedin' Weasley army!' Snape blinked. 'Not to mention these two lovely ladies. A right pair of knights in shining aprons. You're safe, man. Ain't no-one gonna touch you now. Or else.'

A glance at said 'ladies' faces told him just how right he was. From then out, Sirius resolved to be as sane as possible. At least while they were around. To do otherwise constituted a serious risk to a man's continuing health, and he rather liked his head and ... other areas ... exactly as they were. Undetached.

Well? I decided I should bring the title in a bit. And I apologise for the swearing. There are just times when the story demands some explenative. R&R?


	7. Brothers

Welcome back, everyone! Chapter 7. Severus and the twins reach an understanding, after Poppy finally loses the plot and knocks Sev out. Enjoy!

Chapter 7: Brothers?

Severus woke once more, to an easing of pain he had not been blessed with in too long to think of. Judging by the bleariness of his thoughts and the unnaturally healthy way he was feeling, he concluded that Poppy had finally cracked and forced a healing coma on him. She'd only done that once before, the first night he'd come back to Hogwarts after joining the Dark Lord, and only then because she'd caught him by surprise. He avoided them like the plague. There was simply no way of telling what had been done to you when you were unconcious and helpless. He never took that risk if he could help it. Which meant whatever his encounter with the mutt had done, it was enough to dull his reactions.

He struggled up, taking in his surroundings. The same room as before, same bed, same odd, pervasive smell. In his unfocused state, it was the potions master that kicked in first, and he found himself analysing the smell, its permutations, and possible source. Out loud. Idly, he listened to himself, listing the aspects of the scent, and the ingredients that would cause it. He came to the conclusion that it was an adaption of Harmonia Draught, with poppy extract instead of wheat flower, and it was not a sanctioned brew, by the burnt cinder overlayer that signified an illegal fire.

'Woah! You can tell all that from the _smell?_ That's out of this world!'

Startled, and more than a little worried that he hadn't detected the approach, Severus turned to look at the twin awe-filled faces, watching as the surprise turned to calculation in their eyes. 'Messers Weasley, to what to I owe the dubious honour of your presence?' he asked wearily, a hint of smirk twitching his mouth. For some unfathomable reason, he'd always liked the trickster twins, despite their affectation for pranks that reminded him uncomfortably of his younger days. But then, any child of Molly's that engaged in that kind of casual cruelty would have been fast cured of further desire for it. And he admired their persistant, if unorthodox, brilliance.

They shifted a bit, and grinned conspiratorily. He raised his eyebrows. 'Well, sir, we're sorta ...'

'Guarding you.'

'Right. To keep people from disturbing you.'

'But we thought ...'

'While you were up ...'

'That you might like to use some of your spare time ...'

'To help us with a little project of ours. Only if you're up for it, of course.'

'We thought that you might like ...'

'Seeing as how you're so good with potions ...'

'To give us a hand.'

It was like watching that muggle sport ... tennis. The words were passed from mouth to mouth like a ball from bat to bat, flow unbroken, coherence intact, one thought in two heads. It was a touch intimidating, and a touch ridiculous, and very efficient in confusing their target. Well, it would be, if the target hadn't been him.

'Am I right in assuming that this project would have absolutely nothing to do with the field-lab that was so obviously set up in this room?' he asked dryly. 'That you haven't been brewing new potions illegally under this roof? I'm not going to be taking part in anything ... unsavoury ... am I?' The dark little voice in the back of his mind laughed at that, but he put it aside.

'Oh no sir!'

'Nothing like that!'

'Course not!'

He grinned. 'Pity, then. I was so looking forward to some fun.' They blinked, but they were nothing if not smart, and caught on quick.

'Of course ...'

'We could show you our _other_ project, if you'd prefer?'

'The one the Ministry are a bit iffy about.'

'Pure calummy, of course.'

'Nothing wrong with a little experimenting.'

'Not at all, eh, sir?'

He laughed. 'Of course not. But to be on the safe side, how about if we ... forget ... to mention things to your mother?' A pair of brisk nods, and he struggled out of bed, aided casually by the twins. He flinched a bit at their touch, but they diplomatically ignored it, and soon he was up and away to their 'secret laboratory, you know, like in Frankenstein?' He shook his head. Loki reborn, these two.

He fell into the rhythm of the brew like a bird in captivity returned to the air, despite his missing limb. A half an hour spent perusing their formulas and ingredients, and he saw their intent laid out like a fluid diagram in his head. It had a beautiful simplicity, a liquid shield that could be imbued into an object, layered over with hints of Harmonia and NightBalm to calm and befuddle the attacker. He was swiftly enamoured with its design, its preparation, and flowed into the brewing with willingness. They moved around him, a perfect team, adapting their instinctive two-part harmony to accomodate him, and his weaknesses, so that the three of them worked like an oiled mechanism together. It was simply perfect, and he felt an easing in his fears that had nothing to do with lack of cause, merely that he now felt that he had someone to help him. He joined this intimate dance and let fear be.

'Professor ...'

'Can we ask you something?'

He smiled, movements unhalted. 'You already did, yes? But carry on.'

'You do realise ...'

'That Mum and Dad have totally adopted you?'

'You're like a Weasley now.'

'So we were wondering ...'

'Will you be staying with us for a while?'

He stilled momentarily, uncertainty rushing back. 'I don't know,' he answered softly. 'I may not be permitted to. There is so much ... I have too many responsibilities ... I may not be free to choose. I would ... I would like to, if only for a little while, but ...'

They moved in around him, twin walls of strength and comfort. They each laid a hand on one of his shoulders, supporting him in a way no-one ever had, simply standing there. Despite everything, he could not help but feel safer, sandwiched as he was between them. He felt so young, like he was suddenly back at school and they helping him. He wondered if that was what it felt like to have brothers.

'Sir, if you want to stay ...'

'Then all of us will move heaven and earth to make it happen.'

'The way Mum is now, not even Fudge would stand up to her.'

'She and Dad completely cowed the rest of the Order into submission.'

'Even Dumbledore was quaking in his boots.'

'Besides, we could use your help.'

'We've got a shop to run, in competion with some of the greatest potions-makers in the world, and we could use you.'

'We pay pretty good.'

'Great hours.'

'You'd meet some pretty cool people.'

'And it'd be fun.'

'Only if you're up for it.'

'No pressure, or anything.'

'But we do have this big sale next week ...'

'Could use your help.'

'What do you say?'

He laughed delightedly. He really couldn't help it. They didn't know what they were offering, so casually. A job without strings, a freedom he'd never had, and a family, all in one. And they meant it. He could tell when someone lied to him. They were completely sincere in their offer. He didn't know whether to jump at them in gratitude, or back away before he got them hurt. He always did that. Anyone who'd ever tried to help him had gotten hurt. Dobby, back when they'd both been Malfoy's playthings, to Poppy, who cried at night because of him and his constant injuries. She shouldn't have seen those things, what Lucius had done, even in his school days, but he'd been young and foolish enough then to seek help, and she'd kept after him ever since, looking out for him even when it hurt her. He couldn't let these boys be hurt like that.

'Don't even think it, sir.'

'Don't back away.'

'We don't know what they did to you ...'

'But that's not going to happen again.'

'Not when all of us will protect you.'

'We don't care what your past was ...'

'We just want you to be safe.'

'After all ...'

'We can't let anyone else get to the greasy git of Hogwarts before we do ...'

'So take it easy. We're here for you.'

'It's a Weasley thing.'

'Ok?'

He sighed. Was it a Weasley thing to make it impossible for others to resist what you say? Molly had passed that gift to her sons, anyway. But maybe ... for a little while ... it would be good to be safe ... useful. Despite his flaws, all the more obvious now, they welcomed him. For once in his life, maybe he could simply make a choice because he wanted to. Maybe he could try.

'So. These hours? And exactly how much are we talking about?'

They laughed. 'Well, perhaps we can come to some arrangement, seeing as how you're family, and all. Say ... 3 galleons an hour?' He laughed back. He did enjoy a good haggle.

Well? Sorry for the slow update, but here we are now. What do you think? R&R?


	8. Dumbledore V Molly

Je suis desolee, mes amis. I haven't updated in god knows how long. Still, better late than never, eh? Enjoy!

Chapter 8: Dumbledore V Molly

Fred and George left the potions master in his room, after being haggled up to 16 galleons an hour. Harmonia potion or no, they discovered that Severus Snape, while only grudingly social, was keenly financial and had an excellent grasp of face to face negotiations. In slight desperation, they'd bowed out of the debate before they found themselves with a millionaire potions expert on retainer. The shop was prospering, but not _that_ much. Acknowledging their concession, he'd sent them off with a smirk and a cheerful wave.

They swayed into the kitchen, slightly shell-shocked. 'Mum,' Fred asked. 'Was it really such a good idea to feed him Harmonia? He nearly cottoned on in the room from the smell, and he's being rather ... weird.'

'Read "down right strange",' muttered his twin.

Too late, they noticed that their mother wasn't the only person in the room. Blinking owlishly at them, Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. They gulped. _Bad _timing. Very bad. Given their dad's recent attack on the man, it was possibly a bad time to be a Weasley faced with Albus Dumbledore. Then again, given the state mum was in, it was possibly a bad time to a Dumbledore faced with a Weasley. Either way, the twins did _not_ want to be the ones to bring up the subject of Snape with both Molly and Dumbledore in the room. Bit late now, though.

'Really, boys?' She asked brightly. 'What _do_ you mean?'

Double gulp. Fred surreptitiously prodded George, nominating him to do the explaining. George gave him a sideways glare before clearing his throat and attempting to do just that.

'It's just that he's ... uh, happy. It's weird. I mean, no-one's ever seen him _happy _before. Just ...happy, not smirking, I'm-right-as-usual happy. He's being ... nice. Friendly. I thought, what with the pain and all, that he'd be meaner than ever, but he's not. He's out of his head, to tell the truth. Not even ... The arm isn't bothering him. Did we give him too much? I don't think this is the kind of effect Harmonia is supposed to have on a person. It's not how Ron got when we fed him some on the sly that time, anyway.'

Fred elbowed George here. No point bringing up _that_. He could still feel his ears ringing from the lecture they'd got on experimenting on their brother. They were in enough trouble as it was without dredging up old arguments.

For some reason, Dumbledore looked rather ill. Mum looked triumphantly at him for a moment, as if they'd proven some point of hers. She looked rather warlike, too. They'd probably interupted an argument of some kind, that she'd been winning. Like she ever _lost_. Well, since they'd helped her, maybe they could just edge back out of the room, like this ...

'Boys? Where are you off to?' She smiled at them, with that particular edge to it that meant _if you don't get back here this second, there's going to be Trouble. _They got back there, sharpish.

'You see, Albus?' She turned on the hapless Headmaster. The twins gave a barely audable sigh of relief. 'Even they noticed the difference. The man is not well, and obviously hasn't been for ... god knows how long. And you, you just _ignored_ it! You let him go back to that monster, again and again, and come back to be _spit_ on by you're favourite Gryffindors! And you're surprised that he's hurt! You ... you ...'

She tapered off, seemingly unable to find a word strong enough to voice her disgust. Fred was impressed. It wasn't often that someone did something so bad that Mum couldn't think of what to say to them. But he agreed with her. It felt good to see Dumbledore cowering in terror of her, when upstairs the battered potions master was happy for the first time in his life only because he was high on Harmonia. It affronted the Weasley sensibilities to know that someone who helped them so much was hurt because of them. It hadn't mattered in school, when he'd just been the evil greasy git, their premier persecutor. But it mattered a whole lot more when he nearly died to protect and help them, and got shunned and tormented for his troubles. If Dumbledore was the man responsible, which ultimately he seemed to be, then he deserved every inch of the Weasley clan's ire.

Dumbledore looked at them pleadingly, asking silently for help. They looked blankly at him, with the innocence they'd perfected over years of pranks, that supposedly not even the Marauders had equalled. The old man was most decidedly on his own in this one.

'Albus,' Molly murmured dangerously. 'He's not going back. _You_ are not getting your grubby little hands on him again. Once Poppy figures out the spell for attaching a prosthetic arm, he's coming home with us. Understood!' It was not a question.

'But, Molly,' Dumbledore muttered nervously. 'His job ... You can't support another useless family member.'

Silence bloomed. The old man was obviously rattled, because no-one in their right mind would have said _that_ to an already furious Molly Weasley. Fred began edging back out of blast range, his brother right beside him. But before they left Dumbledore to her tender mercies, they threw in their own parting shot.

'Actually, you don't need to worry about that. He'll be working for us. Weasley Wizard's Wheezes could use a potions master of his caliber. He starts as soon as he's recovered.' They grinned malevolently as they swept away, leaving the Headmaster to stare desperately after them.

Once out of sight of the kitchen, they broke into a run, heading upstairs. Stopping on the second floor landing, they panted a bit, sitting down simultaneously with gasping laughs.

'Oh bloody hell,' George muttered. 'Oh hell in a handcart. He is _so _dead! The nerve, though. Insulting our family like that!' Fred wholeheartedly agreed.

'Who insulted your family?' came a velvet voice behind them. They spun to face Severus, who merely stood in his doorway with an eyebrow raised. Something about his stance was wrong, though, and it took them a moment to figure out that normally he'd have his arms folded. The lack of an arm to fold sort to ruined that. It didn't appear to bother him unduly, what with enough Happy-potion in him to make Death cheerful, and it did nothing to lessen the _I-know-you're-in-trouble-so-cough-it-up_ attitude. It just looked wrong.

'Dumbledore,' Fred said cheerfully, swiftly hiding his unease behind the ever-useful Weasley innocence.

'He basically said ...'

'To Mum's face ...'

'That our family was poor and full of useless people.'

The expression on the spy's face was odd. It looked like a mixture of guilt, the kind of smug joy they were accustomed to seeing when he'd caught someone out, and concern. They could guess at the latter two. They'd felt exactly the same on seeing the old bastard cower: smug in the knowledge that he'd get what was coming to him, and vaguely concerned about his mental health afterwards. But why the guilt?

'Sir? You OK?' George asked.

'Hmm? Oh, fine.' He didn't look it though. 'I simply wondered if he's likely to survive.'

'Well, he has a fifty-fifty chance if he figures out when to run for it,' Fred supplied cheerfully. He'd done it himself often enough, after all.

'Pity,' Severus muttered. For a moment, Fred wasn't sure he'd heard correctly, but there wasn't much he could mistake for that particular phrase.

'Yeah, I know,' he agreed, smiling, and again he saw that flash of guilt. Boy, this guy was messed up. Talk about your long-term effects. The guy actually believed he owed the bastard something, and felt ashamed for wanting him to get his just desserts. Well, that wouldn't do. Not at all. There was only one thing for it, something the Weasley kids did well. Eavesdrop on a dressing-down. With one or more of them usually in trouble, it was standard entertainment for the others to listen in on Mum giving out. If anything was going to cure their new employee's unfortunate sense of responsibility, it was hearing Mum in a bad mood.

Roll out the Extendable Ears, and don't forget the popcorn.

I know, it doesn't solve much. It's pretty much an interlude of fun and Dumbledore bashing, one of my favourite pastimes. But I thought I'd explain why Snape was in happyland, for those who were concerned. R&R?


	9. Nightmares

I'm always slow with updates, especially those that involve the Golden Trio. And this one does. Ladies & Gentlemen, I give you Harry & Co. Enjoy!

Chapter 9: Nightmares

Sirius waited nervously with Alastor and Tonks in the living room. Molly's strident outcries had died down, to be replaced with ominous murmuring. It'd been three quarters of an hour. The universal pity of the Order went out to the unfortunate Headmaster, but none were so foolish as to try and pull him out of there. Sirius, after his own little experiences of the Weasley matriarch, had pointedly ignored Moody's grumbles and moves to enter the kitchen. If they wanted to interfere, it was their funeral. _He_ wasn't going in there. Not for love nor money.

Moody stood up again. "We gotta go get 'im," he muttered, not very enthusiastically. Sirius and Tonks shiftily looked elsewhere, neither willing to offer their services. It was ridiculous. They'd happily rush to his aid in confronting a Death Eater army, or Voldemort himself, but Molly Weasley on a rampage? Not on your life. But thankfully, it seemed they wouldn't have to. The murmuring had died out in the other room, and they could hear footsteps, slow and hesitating, coming towards the door. They stood, facing the hall.

Albus looked like death warmed up. All colour had fled from his face, leaving his wide eyes to float unaccompanied in the white expanse. Those eyes were blanked with shock, devoid of the twinkling life that habitually enlivened them. His movements were stuttered, and achingly slow. He looked like he'd just walked off his first battlefield: as if the things he'd seen there had seared his mind and taken any chance of his happiness. Everyone who saw him then privately, and with heartfelt sincerity, vowed to never, _ever_ get on Molly's bad side.

"Headmaster?" Tonks asked uncertainly. "You ..." She'd obviously been about to ask if he was okay, but that was so clearly not the case that it would be stupid to finish out the question. They stared at him. He stared back. Nobody moved.

"Headmaster?" came another voice, familiar and velvetine, from above, on the stairs. Albus started, glancing up at Snape with something approaching fear. The old man shifted uneasily, making no reply. Sirius felt an urge to get between them, to protect Albus, though that was irrational. Snape was in no condition to harm anyone. But with the twins on either side of him, with Molly backing them up from below, there was no doubt that the situation looked menacing. And Albus looked so fragile and old, shaken to his core. "Sir?" Snape continued. "What is it?" The twins snorted. It was perfectly obvious what _it _was, and Sirius did not appreciate the spy's needling. For gods sake, there was no need to keep picking at the man, not after Molly'd had her say.

"Severus ..." Albus croaked. "Severus, I ..."

"He's sorry, Severus," Molly finished decisively. Snape's head snapped around to face her, shock on his face.

"What do you mean, _sorry_? For _me_? Why? What happened?" He actually sounded genuinely confused. Sirius stared. It had to be an act. There was no way the man could not be aware of what Molly had just spent the bones of an hour hammering into Albus, and the last few days ramming home to everyone else. Okay, he'd been unconscious for quite a bit of it, but still! You didn't acquire an army of supporters overnight, and not know it. But he looked so confused. So ... so bloody _innocent_. _Snivellus!_

Sirius wasn't quite sure if it was a good thing or not that the door burst open at that point, admitting a flustered Minerva leading a panicky trio, headed by Harry. His damned portrait of a mother opened her mouth and let loose, and every head swung in that direction, a variety of expressions centred on the stunned newcomers. Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius picked up the return to life in Albus' features, but his eyes were all for his godson.

Harry looked upset, fevered. His gaze wandered over them, before fixing on Snape. On the stump of the spy's arm. With a strangled cry, Harry jerked forward towards him. Severus recoiled slightly, then shook himself and faced the boy. Harry sank to one knee at the foot of the stairs, hugging himself, and Sirius leapt forward with Molly to catch him. Harry jerked away, terror and horror and revulsion in his face. His eyes never once left the ruined limb. It held all his attention. Shaking, unconscious of the tears that poured down his cheeks, Harry raised terrified eyes to meet Severus'. "_It was real_!" he choked out.

Confused, afraid, everyone turned to the spy to explain what was wrong with the boy, but even as Harry looked at no-one else, Snape only had eyes for Harry. He wore a strange expression, somewhere between fear and pity. He flowed gracefully down to crouch in front of Harry, who all but leapt back. Snape caught his shoulder with his one hand, still strong enough to arrest the boy's backwards movement. Looking directly into Harry's eyes, Snape held them both in place, ignoring the growl that burst unwilling from Sirius' throat. "What have you seen, Potter?" he murmured softly. "What was real?"

Harry trembled in the spy's grasp, gasping breath in harsh sobs. He was close to hyperventilation. Sirius was beginning to panic. He'd never seen the boy so upset, and this was looking uncomfortably like Severus' fit the other day. If Harry went off like that, Sirius didn't know what to do, and Poppy wasn't here anymore. He didn't know what to do!

"_Voldemort!_" Harry gasped. "_I saw it. He showed me. I thought it was a nightmare. I saw what they did to you!'_ Severus flinched back, eyes fluttering closed as he struggled to regain composure. Sirius, though he had only a vague idea of what the spy's discovery had involved, was nevertheless horrified at the thought that Harry had witnessed _that_. The Weasleys moved in to calm both Harry and Severus, but the pair flinched away, Severus without even looking. The man had yet to release his steel grip on Harry's arm, and the knuckles of his hand were white with strain. The grip had to be hurting Harry, but the boy gave no sign, the pair still lost in a shared horror that was theirs alone.

"All?" Severus whispered. "Did you see all?" Harry only nodded, which Snape couldn't see, but seemed to understand anyway. The man trembled, face twisting in a grimace of pain that was echoed by the boy he held. Sirius was lost. He couldn't see that pain, couldn't do anything to help it. Not even Poppy could help with this. "Everything?" Severus continued, unwilling to believe. "Even ... Even Lucius?" Sirius bit his lip. Please, let the boy not say yes. Even in school, there'd been rumours about that, that Molly had verified by telling them of Snape's scars. Lucius was an unmitigated bastard, everyone knew that, but now they knew he was a rapist too. Please, let Harry not have witnessed that piece of shit given free reign. Please, let it not be so.

"Yes ..." Harry choked. Oh, hell in a handcart. Oh gods. "And ... and Bellatrix. And Wormtail." Sirius snarled automatically at the name, but the implications of the list were beginning to worry him. Surely not ... Surely not _all_ of them had ... No wonder the pair were so bad. Gods. "And Rookwood, and Avery ..." Please let him stop. Don't let there be more. "And then MacNair, and ... and your arm. And the fire. And Lucius. And ... and ... _It wouldn't stop! The dream wouldn't stop! And he was laughing! He was laughing in my head the whole time. He enjoyed it. And everything they did, and everything he did ..._ I HATE HIM! _IhatehimIhatehimIhatehim!_" Harry choked off with a shuddering gasp, and Severus, eyes still closed in desperation, pulled him into a clumsy one-armed hug. He said nothing, merely held the shuddering boy. Harry wept, as Sirius had never seen anyone weep, and Severus held him and said nothing, and the Order pulled away, out of respect and horror and not a little desperation. No-one knew what to do. Sirius had never felt so helpless.

Finally Severus pulled back. His eyes had finally opened again, whatever emotion he had hidden by closing them having subsided enough for him to pull the mask back up. Gently, he raised Harry's swollen face to look at him, expression grave and yet ... understanding? It was nothing Sirius had ever seen on this man's face before, but it was curiously fitting. "I can make you forget," Severus offered softly, raising his remaining hand to lay it gently on Harry's forehead. "Some things should not ... should _never_ be seen. I can take it away, take those things. I can make it safe to sleep again." Sirius started, but saw what he meant. Harry looked as if he hadn't slept in days.

Harry stared into the spy's face. Severus looked back calmly, silently offering. Slowly, Harry shook his head. "No. No, don't." Sirius could have screamed. Why the hell not? "I don't want to know," Harry tried to explain. "But I think ... I think I need to. I need to hate him. I have to kill him. I didn't .. know if I could, before, but now ..." He trailed off, but with the murderous expression he wore, no-one needed words to get his meaning. "But ... If you want me to ... I owe you too much already. If you don't want me to know?"

Severus shook his head. "I want him dead," he said calmly. "If it helps you kill him, then keep your memories. But don't let them rule you. I am not dead yet, and he hasn't beaten me. So don't you _dare_ let what you've seen change anything. I won't tolerate anyone's pity, especially yours!" For some reason, Harry smiled at this.

"Oh, I don't think I could pity you, sir. I saw to the end, you see. I don't know how you could _laugh_ after that, but it sure as hell pissed him off. When you jumped, I thought our heads would explode with his fury! You were _not_ meant to escape, and I was not meant to see you do it. He was fairly steaming!" Severus chuckled softly, a glint in his eye that echoed the sheer desperate mischief in Harry's. That, Sirius could understand. Turn horror to humour, or go insane. And if anyone had an excuse to go a little loopy, it was those two. Severus lowered his hand, letting it pause in its path to wipe Harry's face. He stood, slowly and with difficulty, and in an instant the twins were there, helping him. Sirius moved in around them to hold Harry, meeting Molly Weasley halfway so they both could hug the child. Over his godson's head, Sirius met his old rival's onyx eyes, offering his grudging respect and gratitude for Severus' help. And for the man's suffering. Not pity, though. He'd never pitied Snape, because helpless or not, the man's had always fought back. Even as a schoolboy, Sirius had admired that. Severus nodded slightly. He knew. He understood.

They'd always be rivals, always only grudging allies, but Severus and himself would never again be enemies. Not while they both had Harry to take care of. And Sirius knew that was what the other man did. He just hoped the stubborn bastard would let Molly and the others take care of _him_. Not that he really had a choice, anymore. Like it or lump it, Severus Snape wasn't alone anymore. And from the looks of things, never would be again. Sirius smiled to himself. Tormenting Snivellus had just become far more challenging. And far more fun. Let the games begin!

Woah! Far more rough than I'd originally intended. Still, moving on now. R&R?


	10. Fighting Boys

Righto. Back to Sev this ch. He gets a reality check, from Mrs Black! Wait and see, ladies & gents. Enjoy!

Chapter 10: Fighting Boys

Somewhat abandoned by the shifting tides of people, Severus let the others go about their business and settled down on the lowest riser of the stairs. Molly and Sirius were stuck like glue to Harry and his friends, and the rest of the Order followed them like a gaggle of geese into the kitchen, clamouring to know what Potter had been up to. Severus, though, was content to let them on, still too shaken by what Potter had inadvertently revealed to the Order. Molly and Poppy had seen the results. Potter had seen the event.

He shuddered. Everything they'd done to him, everything they'd said, all those taunts and humiliations; Potter had seen them all. Potter knew. Everything. Lucius and Voldemort had been quite thorough in bringing his faults and fears to light. His history. And of all the people to reveal them to, the Dark Lord had chosen Potter. How could he ever look the boy in the face again, knowing that? Come to that, how could the boy have borne to look at _him_? He wished Potter had let him erase it. He wished he had let himself. Some things should _never_ be seen.

"So quiet, dark man. Why so quiet?" Severus looked up in surprise to see Mrs Black gazing down at him, curiousity and ... compassion ... in her face. Black? Compassionate? Even her Gryffindor son hadn't managed _that _one. What was she after?

"I'm thinking, Ma'am, that's all. Trying to sort things out," he replied courteously, leaning forward to address her properly. He didn't attempt to stand. He doubted his legs would hold him just yet. She nodded graciously at him.

"The red-haired woman, she is your friend. Her family too. You'll be safe enough with that one, her and hers. My son too, for all his antagonism. He's not a patient person, but he always lacked the bone-deep cruelty that marked some of our family. He likes a fair fight, does Sirius. Of course, he's not adverse to a little picking on those weaker, but he likes a challenge better. It seems you give him that, and always have. He used to speak of you, you know. Coming home for holidays."

Severus raised his eyebrows at her, silently urging her to continue. She laughed suddenly, a sharp tinkle of amusement, and he was struck by how beautiful she had actually been. When she wasn't screaming her lungs out and apopolectic with rage, she was really quite charming.

"Oh yes. He was always on about you. His Gryffindor friends too, sometimes, but he seemed to prefer to keep news of them to himself. Didn't want to mix worlds, I suppose. But he'd keep on about you, how you kept at them, how you wouldn't just lay down and take a licking like you deserved, how you'd insult them and defy them and simply refuse to back down. You frustrated him no end, you did. But underneath his bluster, I always got a sense that he admired you, in an odd way. I used to hope that you'd show him the error of his Gryffindor ways, but that was wishful thinking. Besides, from what I've seen here, you could be Gryffindor's poster boy, what with all this risking-yourself-so-no-one-else-has-to business you keep getting into."

He bristled at that, an instinctive reaction left over from his own schooldays, when his fellow Slytherins on occasion would accuse him of just that. Personally, he'd always thought that he was about as Slytherin as they came, with all his layers of deception and misleading. He'd become a _spy_, for crying out loud. You didn't manage that without some fairly powerful Slytherin tendancies. He said as much.

She laughed again. "Of course, you are Slytherin, no denying it. But I always thought that hat was just a majority vote, picking up on your strongest attribute. I bet you hid all that courage and genius and misplaced loyalty from it, and it picked up that deception. Even though you've strong traits worthy of all houses, you used your Slytherin ones to disguise them, and ended up there. And well placed you were, perhaps, because if you'd ended up anywhere else, these idiots wouldn't have a spy, would they?"

"If I'd ended up somewhere else, maybe I'd still have two hands," he muttered, then started. Now was not the time for self-pity. There was never a time for that. He looked up at her again, to see that same compassionate look as before.

"Maybe. Maybe not," she murmured. "I think you'd have ended up in this war, one way or another. You're too proud and passionate not to become involved." He spluttered, descending into a fit of coughing. What?

"Oh, don't look at me like that, foolish boy! I may be dead, but I'm not blind! You'd never bow your neck to anyone, not by choice, and even if forced your mind would be your own. That's why you're a spy, no? Because He could bend your spine, but not your will. You never believed in him, did you?"

He looked at her in frank astonishment. "Even if I didn't," he began cautiously. "Isn't that a _bad_ thing in your books? The Blacks were staunch supporters of the Dark Lord, weren't they? Weren't _you_?"

She sniffed haughtily. "That half-blood power freak? Never! It was his opening promise that caught our attention. A return to the glory days of the old families, the pure-bloods given power once more. That was what we wanted. But you must understand, the old families bow to no-one. He wanted our subservience. That, we will never stoop to give, to _anyone_. We supported him, yes, in his early days. But now, seeing my nieces, my nephew-in-law, scions of the great houses, happily kowtowing to that upstart ... I've never been so ashamed in all my life, or death. At least Sirius, though he defied us, didn't do it so he could bow to someone else! He stayed true, in spirit if not ideals, to our family. So no. Your pride is no bad thing in my books. You are strong enough, perhaps, to start a new family."

"What do you mean, a new family?" Severus was rapidly losing her plot, if she actually had one, and wasn't just displaying that she had a few marbles short of a full set.

"Hah! Shows what these modern pure-bloods know. Back in Salazar's time, pure-blood meant of a noble family, and gifted with magic. The purest of lines stemmed back to Merlin himself. Anyone with magic in their blood stems from the stock of Merlin, or one of the other Dragon-Era Wizards. Latent or Potent, all his scions hold magic. Muggleborns are wizards from two Latent lines awakened in each other. That means they stem from the marriage of two or more magical bloodlines. Therefore, the Muggle or Halfblood family has blood-right to call themselves pure, as there are at least two magical lines involved. The Latent lines are awakened, and a new family is born. You, with your pride and magical skill, if you marry a Potent or Latent line, can start a new family."

He stared. And they thought Voldemort was blood-obsessed! This tracing of lines ... it made humans sound like horses, bred for excellence without a thought for preference or love. He'd known, in part, how the old families were born, and that there had been some newer ones, the most recent having been founded four hundred years ago, and still looked down on as 'newbies'. He could see why Black had rebelled, and Malfoy lapped it up. Malfoy was against free choices for anyone but himself.

"I ... I'm not sure what to say," he murmured uncertainly. This was not something he needed to think about. Potter and the Order and his bloody hand were enough to worry about. _More_ than enough.

"Oh, bother it! You're back to brooding again. Well, I did _try_ to distract you. Not my fault if you're an obsessive worrier." She huffed in annoyance, and he blinked. Distract him? Oh, great! Another bloody woman trying to manipulate him out of his misery. What was it about him that attracted the mother-hen types! And turned other, perfectly sane women into maternal monsters?

"Well, since you ask ..." George grinned from the hallway. "I'd say it's your absolute cuteness. Fred?"

"Yeah," his twin smirked. "And his lost-puppy look."

"Your wit and charm ..."

"Your tendancy to get into trouble ..."

"Your childlike innocence ..."

"Need we go on?"

Severus stood, letting a thunderous expression slide into his 'cuteness'. "Oh please, do," he murmured silkily. "If you're willing to try a Death Eater's patience, do go on." He smirked coldly.

They put on faces of false terror, and held them for a good minute, too, before all three of them collapsed into giggles. Mrs Black looked down on their hunched, breathless forms indulgently, a slight smirk on her own features.Out of the corner of his eye, Severus saw her nod at someone out of his sight, in the kitchen. He sighed mentally. Even with a rake of others to look after, Molly still kept an eye on him. How she'd managed to bribe the hell-fire portrait into helping her, he wasn't sure he wanted to know. It seemed the twins' descriptions of a woman on the warpath hadn't been exaggerations, if she could bully a Black into complying. And _this_ Black!

"Ma'am," he said breathily, still recovering from his fit of the giggles, something he was profoundly ashamed of, and secretly delighted in. "You Slytherin, you! You're complicit with Molly's plans, aren't you? You're out to make a mother's boy of me, just like all the rest of those bloody females!"

She laughed fully, a rich chuckle of amusement. "Oh no, my boy. No indeed. Molly wants to mother you. _I_ want you in fighting shape to ... what's that new phrase? ... kick my son's ass! As it seems only you can. I want you to turn him back into a fighting Black, not this moping creature he's become. I've never yet seen him show more fire than when he talked of beating you. You'll get well, and give me back a son I can be proud of. Or it will go ill for both of you."

"You bloody old hag!" Sirius exclaimed behind them, and Severus realised that they had quite an audience from the kitchen by this stage. "You manipulative, scheming old witch! Can't you do better than threatening a one-armed weakling into taking me on?"

In an instant, Severus swung on him. "One armed weakling? What the hell do you mean by that one, Black? I could take you out if I were paralysed! Now you don't have a gang of three to back you up, a three year old could take _you _down!"

"Yeah? Care to back that one up, _Snivellus_?" Black raised a wand, and Severus brought up his right hand, cursing his lack of equipment, and thanking his prudence in mastering wandless magic. Black could rile him up without a second thought, just by existing. And vice-versa, so it seemed.

"Yes! That's my boys! That's what I want to see!" The old woman crowed triumphantly, and by instant agreement both he and Black lowered their weapons and proceeded to haughtily ignore both each other, and her. This apparently delighted her, as she laughed all the harder.

"Oh, my boys. My little spitfire, fighting boys. You'll make it, alright. By sheer dint of annoying each other into succeeding, you'll make it. And well for you, too. My boys. And a fine pair you are!"

Neither himself nor Black knew quite what to say to this.

Well? An odd choice of happenings, I agree, but I couldn't get the image of him on the stairs chatting with this hellion-portrait out of my head. And it worked out rather well, I think, in helping to explain how he and Sirius push off each other to get stronger. I'm pretty sure that's why they do it. And I'll deal with his hand soon, I promise! Anyway. R&R?


	11. Thurizaz

Okay. I know you've all been wondering about his hand, and I thought I'd better come up with a damn good reason why he hasn't got it yet. This may sound far-fetched, but keep in mind that Charlie is a Weasley, and Dung likes moonlighting on the dark side. And no, I'm not going to chop Charlie's hand off. Enjoy!

Chapter 11: Thurizaz

Molly kept up her end of the bargain. She was a woman of her word, after all, and so she didn't actively interfere between Sirius and Severus. However, it only stretched so far, and she'd warned Mrs Black in advance that if Sirius went too far, she'd blast him into next week herself, provided Poppy didn't reach him first. The woman had laughed that peculiar laugh that was purely maternal, the one that said that if her child was foolish enough, then he deserved everything he got, and that was _before_ he got home. Molly was a past master of that particular sentiment, but she knew enough to acknowledge an equal when she saw one, and put her mind to rest.

No, what concerned her now was something different. Poppy was being evasive, something the healer never did unless something _bad_ was happening. If a patient died, she wouldn't flinch from telling, if the injuries were beyond hope, she wouldn't falter. At least not in public. Molly knew that things were different for the sturdy woman in private. You don't share a bottle of pipe-cleaning brandy with someone and not find out some things. But she never, ever evaded you. Something was up.

The fire flared green, and the healer herself stepped out, followed by ... Mother of the good god! What was Poppy Pomfrey doing traipsing around with _Mundungus Fletcher_! Of all the people you'd expect to see Poppy with, this was the _last_ you'd seriously consider. Well, while sober and in good taste, anyway. The rumours, while occasionally persuasive, were just that: rumours. Nothing you'd actually consider possible within the bounds of polite society. Besides, Molly knew that Poppy's heart belonged to someone else, and so far unrequited or no, Poppy would never betray that. So _what_ was she doing with Dung?

"Just lay it on the table, Dung," Poppy instructed softly, and Molly noticed the bundle the old fox had under his arm. A longish, slim, heavy bundle. Poppy minding it. Molly's breath caught. Maybe ... Finally.

"I'll just go get Severus," she smiled, and Poppy gave her a weary but triumphant nod. Molly nearly leapt for joy. At last ... For real.

She found Severus in the twins' makeshift lab, flowing silently and happily around and with them, moving together with such confidence that it was like watching a five-armed dancer, rather than the usual four-armed one. Her heart gave a queer little jump, and she bit her lip. She wished Arthur was here to share this sight with her. When he came home that evening, she'd have to tell him of watching her three sons dance the five-armed monster. And tomorrow ... tomorrow it would be six-armed.

"Severus," she called softly, and he turned to her, sliding around a twin to stand before her, a peaceable, yet intense look in his eyes. She knew that look. She'd seen it on Arthur when he found a new Muggle toy to tinker with, on her trickster twins more often than she cared to count, usually just before they blew something up. It was the fascination of fiddling with the unknown, of experimenting, purely to see how far you could go. It was the calm, pure pleasure of seeing a new horizon, and pushing towards it with all you had. She was glad. He and her twins would do well together.

"Severus, we found something for you. We found one, eventually. It's here." She watched that spark of hope leap, then mask itself. Cautious little bastard, her Severus. Reminded her of Arthur the first time she'd let him ask her out: hopeful, joyous, yet mindful all the time of the potential for a fist in the ribs if he moved wrong. Not that it had stopped Arthur, mind. Far from it. It only encouraged him.

"Show me," he commanded quietly. Not asked. Commanded. He got pushy when he got nervous. She didn't mind that, either. You learned to put up with a lot, with a large and varied family. She led him down.

"You do realise," she explained as she went. "You do realise that since you're ... not exactly a Ministry-approved candidate for prosthetic limbs ... we had to get this on the sly, so to speak." He nodded brusquely, then paused as realisation hit. A slow horror spread over his features.

"No," he said flatly. "Please tell me I'm not about to be attached to something _Dung_ dug up! Say it isn't so." She had to laugh at this, as he intended. He had the oddest sense of humour, a true gallows laugher. Melodramatic under pressure.

"Yep! I gotcha a real beaut of a toy, my boy!" Dung called from up ahead. Only for she was still looking right at him, Molly would have missed the tremor at the word 'toy'. It was swiftly masked, and he was as calm and confident as ever, but she saw, and privately vowed that if she ever got her hands on Lucius Malfoy, by the end of it he would know the meaning of the word anguish. She might even let Poppy join in, if there was anything left.

They walked through into the kitchen, but as soon as Severus caught sight of what lay on the table, he stopped dead. He stopped and stared, disbelieving. Molly looked nervously to see what was wrong. She didn't doubt it was a slightly disturbing sight, a human hand, or what looked exactly like one, lying cleanly on a table. She frowned a bit at the colour. Severus was going to look rather odd with one white and one black hand. But that didn't appear to be what was troubling him.

He turned to gaze at Dung wonderingly. "You ... Where did you get this? And how many want your blood for taking it?" Dung only grinned.

"Well now, that's quite a story. And before you start flusterin', no-one's comin' for me, or you. At least not because of this little lady. Ain't she a beaut?"

Severus moved reverently up to the table, reaching out cautiously with his right hand. He ran a gentle finger along the ebony satin of the back of the limb, slipping his pale, pale fingers between the darker ones. "Beautiful is not the word," he murmured. "Do you know what this is?" That was directed at her and Poppy, not Dung. She shook her head.

"A Dragonraider Blade," he whispered. "The African Dragonhunters run serious risks, and lost limbs are a usual hazard. These limbs, 'Blades' as they're called, are the most state-of-the-art prosthetics there are. But they're not to be trifled with. They require a bloodbond to wield, and will only join with their true partner. They are constructed of dragonbone, the dragon who took the hunter's original limb if possible, and gold-and-unicorn-hair tendons and ligaments. They take your blood, and reproduce it, melding with your flesh until only death can remove it. They each bear a name, the name of their spirit, and only a human of similar spirit has a chance. There are only five known in the world of this level. What is her name?" This last to Dung.

Mundungus smiled. "That's why no-one's coming for her, lad. The lady bears an ill-luck name, at least among the African laddies. Three partners have tried her. All have died for wearing her. Her name is Thurizaz."

Severus froze, the 'lady' in his hand. "Thurizaz?" he asked wonderingly. "Gateway? You bring me the lady of shadows?" His hand tightened around her.

Dung looked at him oddly. "Actually, the lady comes to you. I'm just the Wyrdcarrier. I sent a message to young Charlie, to talk to the Africans. I told him to tell them that a gateman needed a hand. They understood. Seemed glad to be rid of her, actually."

"Gateman," Severus repeated blankly. Molly wondered if Poppy felt as lost as she.

"Of course," Dung replied. "That's you, young Snape. The Shadowman. The Halfblood Prince. Don't think I've forgotten your schooldays. The lady bridges the gap between two worlds, the Dark and the Light, the magical and the mundane. That's you. The spy. The halfblood. You're the Gateman, boy, if ever I saw one. The lady bridged the Wyrd for you. She's your partner."

Molly was _way_ out of her depth here. This, from _Dung_! What was this talk of Wyrd and shadows and lady? Sure, she remembered from Ancient Runes, all those years ago, a rune called Thurizaz, the gateway. She remembered something about the 'Wryd', the WorldFate, too. But what did that have to do with Mundungus Fletcher? Not to mention her Charlie! And why talk about a prosthetic limb as if it were alive?

Poppy strode forward, between Severus and Dung. Hands on hips, she looked Severus square in the eyes. "This 'lady'? Will she do? Can you bond with her?" Severus started to shake his head, looking doubtful, but Dung cut in again.

"Of course you can! Time to stop hiding, boy. You're the Gateman, and you need a hand. Take the lady. She came through the Wyrd, through three owners, through Charlie, through me, to join you. She bends the Wryd to her will."

"Then she took my hand!" Severus spat.

"Don't be an idiot! He-who-must-not-be-named did that, as soon as he placed his mark there. You know that. He took back what was his, the only part of you that ever was, and now you take what's yours!" Poppy stunned them all, fierce and powerful. She took Severus by the arm, forcibly. "You're meant to be whole, Severus. You're meant to take back everything those bastards took from you! You're meant to show them what it means to mess with the HalfBlood Prince. Lucius be damned! He's only a lord. You are the Prince!"

"I'm no Prince," he whispered ashamedly. "I was only ever his toy. I'm sorry that I've hurt you by letting you see, back then. I'm sorry you had to know that. The Prince was a lie, to help me feel some measure of power over my own life. You knew it for the lie it was. You knew."

"I knew that if you could believe it, even briefly, that if you could hold the Prince up to the light and still see him, then it was more true than any trick of lineage that produced a Malfoy! I knew that in your heart you were always the Prince, even when you came to me battered as a whippingboy. I knew, I _know_, that the Prince will rise, and that he'll destroy all those who harmed him on the way. I know you're strong enough. I know you'll help us destroy the darkness. And if this lady can help you, if she was meant to help you, then I say take her, and be whole!" She drew to a halt, panting with the ferocity of her speech, eyes ablaze and more passionate than Molly had ever seen, on anyone.

Severus looked at her, and Molly recognised again the look, the explorer on the edge of discovery, the dancer poised to start the music. He looked at Poppy, and she at him, and Molly knew they were complete. No doubts. It was the look Arthur and she had worn on their wedding day.

"You'll have to open a new wound, then," he said softly. "The blood needs to flow to bond. You'll have to remove the burnt areas."

Poppy smiled grimly. "_That_ is not a problem, my little prince of pain. I'm a healer, and a surgeon. We'll break it again to mend it. The way we must do everything."

Molly sighed. And wasn't that the truth?

By the by, the chop-another-bit-off-to fix-another-bit-on comes from a reviewer, Carol J. Thanks. I thought it a bit bloodthirsty at first (and maybe it is), but it seems to work. So what do you think? Thought I'd answer some other questions, like the Lucius thing, while I was at it. Far out, or what. R&R?


	12. Home

Okay. I'm aware that the hand business last chapter might have been confusing, so here's a few bits of info. Thurizaz is a Nordic rune that means gateway, the path between worlds. Dung is another underplayed character, and is in the Order for a reason, namely his underground contacts. That aside, back to happiness this chapter, for a while. Sev POV.

Chapter12: Home

Severus sat on the stairs again. It was rapidly becoming his favourite spot in this blasted house, after the twins' field lab. He stared down at his hands. Two, once again. One pale as moonlight, the other black as the gaps between the stars. Mismatched, and yet whole at the same time. He was whole again, in body anyway. And since coming here, coming to the Weasleys, more whole in spirit too. He felt ... stronger, calmer. Not the enforced calm of the spy, the blanking of mind he was used to when enduring torment. Real calm. Heart calm. It was wonderful, more wonderful than anything he'd ever known, a quiet joy that filled his being.

Quietly, almost without realising it, he started to hum. It was an old habit of his, one that he'd only previously indulged in his private labs, while working. A simple little tune, one his father had taught him, when he was all of two years old. It had been the first thing Tobias Snape had taught him, and the one thing that stuck with him longest. Gods, but he missed his father. He'd had no magic, no wand, but he'd had a gift for showing Severus the magic that was inherent in _all_ things, from dawn to butter to song. Especially song. He'd loved music, and had been more than willing to share that love with his son. A love Severus had had little opportunity to know these last years. Ever since Malfoy had taken advantage of Eileen Snape's death to force Tobias into selling on his son. Not that he'd survived to mourn the loss. Caligulus Malfoy had killed him as soon as the transaction was complete. It was the first in a long list of reasons for his intense hatred of the Malfoys.

Blinking, he shook off the morbid thoughts. The last thing his father would wish him to do was spoil a rare moment of happiness with bitter memories. Severus picked back up the tune, singing softly and joyfully to himself, in celebration of a generous spirit and a worthy father, who would always be remembered well. The simple, childish melody floated around him in the morning light, dancing through the dust motes on the beams of early morning sun. Suddenly caught in the simple wonder of it, Severus felt himself begin to cry softly, content to just remember, and be at ease. It was a beautiful morning, in a calm house.

He didn't blink as Arthur sat silently beside him on the step. Neither did he stop singing. He wanted to complete this song, in honour of his father's memory. He knew Arthur would understand that. The last notes danced playfully around them, ending with a sound like a child's laughter, that was Tobias' one true joy. A moment of silence followed, easy and reverent.

"It was my father's song," he told Arthur softly. "I felt like remembering him, just now. I felt like being near him. It's been too long. Too hard. To get time to just think of him. Sorry if it woke you."

The older man laughed gently. "And if it did? It's a fine tune to wake to. Simple. Beautiful. Made me think of Bill's first steps, or Charlie's first broomride. The twins' first proper explosion, perhaps?" Severus snorted. "Hah. Yes, it was rather early. They were three, playing with my cauldron. I suppose you'd know all about them and cauldrons by this stage." Severus nodded ruefully.

"They were ... inventive, I'll give them that. But they didn't bother with little things like safety regulations. My classroom bore the brunt of quite a few of their 'experiments'. Some quite clever, actually. The beginnings of genius. Just ... unruly genius. No thought for their own safety, or indeed mine. I've had more hair-raising experiences trying to control those two that at many a Death Eater revel. Only Neville Longbottom ever managed to keep me on my toes more than they."

Suddenly he laughed. Arthur looked askance at him, lips quirking in amusement. "I was only thinking," Severus explained, "that those were good times. Between Neville and your boys, I barely had a chance to breathe, let alone dwell on darker thoughts. It's a wonder I'm not bald from the fits of frustration. I should at the very least be grey!"

Arthur chuckled. "Don't feel alone there, boyo. I swear, it's their misson in life to make us all grey before our time. Them and Harry. That boy shouldn't be out so often, getting up to who-knows-what. Boy-Who-Lived or not, he's still a _boy_! He shouldn't be in danger so much! How can people honestly expect him to stand up to Voldemort alone!"

Severus sighed. "There's no-one else. Like it or not, he _is_ the Boy-Who-Lived. Voldemort chose him. We can help him. We _must_ help him, but at the end of the day, he's the only one Voldemort will allow to defeat him. He's the prophesied hero ..."

"But it's not right!" Arthur roared, then hurriedly quieted at the sound of stirrings from upstairs. "It's not right," he continued, more quietly. "No-one should ask a boy to do these things! No-one should have asked _you_ to spy, either! One person can't hope to bear up under the responsibilities of an entire people! We've fobbed off our duty onto the pair of you for too long! Harry to be the hero, and you to be the sacrifice. At least Harry gets some thanks! It's just not right!"

Stunned, Severus laid a calming hand on the man's shoulder. "Right or not, it was what had to be done. We needed a spy. We need a hero. Harry and I were the only choices. He is strong enough. I wasn't ..."

"Don't say that! You're stronger than anyone I've known, save Harry and Molly," Arthur interupted.

"But I failed. I was discovered. I'm no use to anyone anymore." Severus was confused. That really should be obvious. His only purpose had been to spy. Without that ...

Arthur pulled him forward into a hug. Severus stiffened in shock, both at the man's display of emotion, and at the fact it was directed at him. "Arthur?"

"Shush, boy. Don't think like that. It doesn't matter if you can spy or not. Molly and I care about you anyway. So do our trickster twins, from the looks of things. They haven't left your side since you awoke. And they won't. _We_ won't. We told you you're a Weasley now. We didn't just say that for fun. We _meant_ it. You're one of us, and we won't abandon you, no matter what. It's our solemn promise."

Severus struggled to pull away, to say something, but in the end he simply leant against Arthur, taking the offered support, and quietly wept. A strange mix of sorrow and joy and warmth filled him, and for once he just let them rage through him, feeling safe enough with this man to let his true feelings show. For the first time in so very long, he felt like someone cared, not just for what he could do, but for who he was. It was wonderful, and terrifying, for everything he'd ever cared for had been taken, and he wasn't sure if he could bear one more loss. No. He _was_ sure. If one more thing were taken, he would crumble completely. He would die.

"Severus?" He looked up at Arthur. "Come with me, lad. There's something I need to show you." Blinking, he only watched as the red-haired man stood, and stared for a moment at the hand that was offered. Then, shaking himself, he took it and allowed the Weasley patriarch to help him to his feet.

Arthur led him to the fireplace. Severus pulled back a touch. He hadn't been outside this house since ... Well, since he'd returned that last time. He wasn't sure if he were allowed. Not that anyone had forbidden him, as such. He'd just gotten the impression that leaving would be a bad idea. Besides, he wasn't completely healed, which had never before stopped him, but he'd never been quite so close to the veil before, either.

Arthur looked back at him. "We're just going to the Burrow for a few minutes. We'll be back in time for breakfast. We have to be. Molly will kill me if I deny her the opportunity to fatten you up, after all." Severus chuckled weakly, and followed the other through the Floo.

Once through, he looked about with interest. He'd only been here ... what, twice? Not often, anyway. It was ... homely, and charming. The chaotic disorder only showed that people lived here, truly lived here. It was a family home. It was wonderful.

"Severus? This way." He turned to Arthur, smiling slightly. This was a good place. It was difficult _not_ to be happy, here. Arthur led him into the kitchen, and Severus followed willingly, looking around him all the way. He felt like a child. That was a very rare thing. But it was pleasant.

They stopped before the clock. Most wizarding families had one. It helped keep track of things. Severus blinked at it, wondering what he was meant to see.

"Look at the hands, Severus," Arthur prompted gently.

Hands? Nine, one for each Weasley. No. Ten. Ten hands. He moved closer. Written in delicate black inlay, on a brand new silver clockhand, was the name Severus Snape. That alone sent a lump of emotion to his throat. But what struck him was where the hand rested. On 'HOME'.

"As long as you live," Arthur said softly beside him, "this will be your home."

Severus closed his eyes, tears stinging the insides of his eyelids. It was too much. He was spending quite a bit of this morning in tears, but this was too much. He couldn't hold back. Still, struggling, he forcibly swallowed the lump in his throat to choke out two soft words.

"Thank you," he whispered. Arthur silently put an arm around his shoulders, and Severus leaned into him once more, and wept in quiet joy.

Well? I know I've been awhile updating, but here we go. I wanted to bring Arthur back, and to bring Tobias in. I don't think poor old Muggle Tobias was evil, or abusive, or neglectful. I just think he died, and should be remembered well. So what do you think? R&R?


	13. Mornings in Grimmauld Place

Sorry I haven't updated this in ages, but times are turbulent right now. Enjoy.

Chapter 13: Mornings at Grimmauld Place

Arthur watched the younger man in the light from the kitchen window. So soon after dawn, the pale golden light washed in and highlighted every stain on Severus' pale face where a bruise was healing. Poppy had been too focused on the major traumas to bother with such minor injuries, and the boy had been going around with a black-and-blue mask for the past week. Tears glimmered in his eyes now, springing easily at the thought of having a home. It hit Arthur hard, standing alongside the memory of Severus' appearance that night, battered, near death, and softly murmuring that he didn't want to be alone to die. This moment would join it, etched on his mind as if by acid, and Arthur knew he'd cheerfully die to protect this damaged man.

Severus reached a hand up reverently to trace the hand with his name on it through the glass. Arthur glanced at it, thinking he'd done good work with that one. He looked back at his new son, meeting watery black eyes.

"Whatever your family needs," Severus murmured softly, determinedly. "I will find a way to give it." Said with all the power of an oath, Arthur didn't doubt his sincerity.

"Your family too, Severus. Whatever you need also, we'll find a way. We Weasleys stick together, through thick and thin," Arthur promised right back. Severus looked away again, blinking tears back, and Arthur wanted to hug him again, like he'd done on the stairs in Grimmauld Place. But sometimes you had to restrain yourself, and a man so unused to physical contact not meant to hurt as Severus was would only feel threatened by the Weasley method of comfort. At least until he got used to it. Until then, a supporting hand on his shoulder would have to suffice.

"We should get back," he said brightly after a minute. "Molly'll be up soon, and we'd better be there when she does. She worries, you know, if she doesn't get to feed us of a morning." Not giving Severus a chance to retreat, Arthur steered him gently towards the Floo. At his current weight, Severus didn't have the strength to resist, which reinforced Arthur's determination to see Molly have her way with him. The man needed some feeding up.

They stepped through the fireplace, Severus leading, and out into an ambush. Stumbling as usual on exiting the Floo, Arthur barely dodged the stun curse sent his way, diving to one side. Someone was yelling, flinging curses their way in rapidfire. Vision clouded by soot, Arthur was lost. He couldn't sense Severus, and panicked, trying to locate him in the confusion. He sensed movement, to one side. Then silence, broken only by heavy breathing, ruled again.

Coughing, Arthur staggered upright, wand out and searching for the enemy, and Severus. He didn't know what to expect, but the sight that greeted him was not it.

Alastor Moody stood in the centre of the room, panting heavily, wand two feet off to one side. Behind him, new hand wrapped around the Auror's throat, stood Severus Snape, eyes blank and cool, face impassive, the other hand holding his prisoner's hands uncomfortably behind his back. There was no-one else in the room, though from the footsteps thundering upstairs, Arthur guessed things wouldn't stay that way long.

Trembling from exertion, still unfit after his recent treatment, Severus breathed deeply, held it, and let it go. "Alastor?" he asked, confused.

"What the hell did you do with Arthur?" Alastor snapped back. Arthur blinked, realising the pair hadn't noticed him yet. Well, Alastor hadn't. He stepped forward, wand still raised slightly, into the Auror's range of view.

"I'm right here, Alastor. What's going on?"

Alastor blinked, staring at him. "You okay?" he rasped. "He didn't hurt you?"

"Why would Severus hurt me?" Arthur asked innocently. Alastor opened his mouth, then shut it again, completely wrongfooted by the question. Severus, smirking ever so slightly, released him, stepping back. Alastor spun between them, uncertain. Arthur sighed.

"Alastor, have you had coffee yet?"

"What?"

"Coffee. Have you had yours yet?" Arthur smiled. "You know how you get if you don't get caffeine in you fairly early. Constant vigilence is hard to maintain without a good dose, isn't it?"

"What?" Alastor repeated. Arthur shook his head.

"Come on. We'll get you some, and everything will clear up then." He took the bewildered man by the arm, leading him towards the kitchen. Severus followed, that faint smile still on his face. Alastor glanced worriedly at them, but went with Arthur anyway. They were halfway down the hall when the first couple of heads peeped over the stair-rail, wondering what the racket was about. Arthur winked at his sons, waving them back to bed, but the twins came all the way down anyway, following them into the kitchen.

Moving easily together, Arthur got Alastor seated while Severus moved towards the kettle. Fred and George sat on the other side of the table, staring at the poor Auror intently, as if he were some new and unusual specimin. Severus moved around the counter, getting coffee put together, looking astonishingly domestic. The twins started teasing him gently, and he responded with his typical acerbic wit. Arthur joined in, scolding them laughingly. Alastor sat in the midst of this, looking lost and rather lonely. Arthur sat down beside him.

Moments later, Severus put a healthy sized mug down in front of him. Drawn to the heady aroma of strong, black coffee as if by magnets, Alastor swung all his considerable attention on it. After glancing once warily at the potions master, he grabbed it and gulped, practically inhaling the scalding liquid. The Weasleys watched in awe as the old Auror drained the mug, banged it down for a refill, tossed back the next lot, and finally settled down to sip the third cup sedately.

"Bloody hell," George exclaimed reverently, staring admiringly at Alastor. Fred echoed his brother's awe. Arthur grinned to himself. They hadn't seen Alastor in his younger days, when it'd take maybe five cups to get him on a par with most living beings. Living now with an old man's wakefulness, it seemed two would do what once took at least four. Or else Severus had worked his magic on the brew, and upped the strength, though given what Alastor had typically managed on his own, Arthur doubted that was possible. Just to be sure, he had a sip himself.

The caffeine exploded on his tongue, sending his head in a giddy reel as his brain tried to cope with the sudden shot of pure energy. His eyes crossed, and it took him a full two minutes to refocus on a grinning Severus Snape.

"Woah ..." he rasped. "Woah! What .. did you _do_ to that coffee? What did you _do_?"

Severus bowed, laughing. "I am the potions master, Arthur. The magic at my fingertips knows no bounds, nor the genius. Besides, I know coffee. It has to be strong or there's no point. So I make it _strong_. What do you think, Alastor?"

Alastor looked up from his adoring contemplation of the coffee pot. "I think I love you," he murmured, with every indication of absolute seriousness. A horrified pause filled the kitchen as the two stared at each other. Then the tension cracked as Alastor grinned evilly. "Got you!"

Severus sighed, and sat down with his own cup, shaking his head. Alastor shifted uncomfortably for a moment, then spoke.

"I am sorry though," he muttered. "I just woke up and realised that two of us were missing. When I figured out it was the two of you, I jumped to a conclusion. The wrong one, obviously. So sorry!" He stated the last almost beligerently, daring Severus to take issue with his apology. Arthur stiffled a chuckle.

Severus didn't look at him. "Yes, well, I suppose I should apologise for attacking you, but if you launch an attack on a paranoid ex-Death Eater this soon after a persuasive brush with death, you deserve everything you get. So if you're sore, it's entirely your own fault."

Alastor shrugged. "Guess so. Good reflexes, mind. Nearly didn't catch me in time."

"Pardon me for being unused to my new limb as of yet. Rest assured, I will rectify that as soon as possible."

Alastor grinned. "That a challenge? You up for some sparring?"

"Anytime, old man," Severus smirked. Arthur and the twins looked from one face to the other, watching the grins. Before either could directly challenge the other, though, a new voice entered the fray.

"You do, and I'll have the pair of you washing dishes until you can't pick up a wand, let alone use it!" Molly warned, striding into the room to stand with hands on hips behind her husband. Arthur felt her warm presence behind him, and reached up to pull her down into a kiss, uncaring of the quickly averted gazes. Riding on the energy from Severus' miracle coffee, Arthur made it a good kiss, welcoming his wife into his new day with enthusiasm. She stared down at him appraisingly when they drew apart.

"You taste of coffee," she stated. "Gimme!" Arthur laughed delightedly at her childish tone. He loved Molly in the mornings. And the evenings, and the nights, and every hour of every day of his life. She was his light and his life.

Alastor cleared his throat loudly, interupting their passionate gaze. Arthur blushed slightly, but Molly merely fixed the Auror with a stare cold enough to freeze hell, and turned to Severus. "Coffee?" she repeated.

Severus, smiling with wonder, handed over the pot and a spare mug. "It's strong," he warned. Molly snorted.

"Good!"

Arthur leaned back, letting the enthusiastic discussion of the multiple wonders of good coffee wash over him. He listened idly as Alastor and Severus compared notes on London's best coffee shops, while the twins started badgering the potions master with ideas for using caffeine in a stamina potion, and Molly fought with Alastor for posession of the last mugful of the brew. He chuckled quietly to himself as Severus stood to make more, with the pair of them hanging over him eagerly in the hopes of learning his secret. It was a good morning, he thought.

A very good morning indeed.

Well? I know it's very ... domestic, but Severus has a family now, and I wanted to show some normal interaction. How'd it go?


	14. On Field Medics

'Kay. Back to the war. I love writing quiet family fluff, but there _is_ a war on, so we're gonna have to lump it. Anyway, enjoy.

Chapter 14: On Field Medics

It was inevitable, Severus supposed. Such a good morning couldn't last. Things _never_ stayed so good for so long where he was concerned. It was some sort of karmic punishment, or maybe whatever deity ran things really _did_ have it in for him. Either way, when Harry burst into the kitchen babbling about Remus and Sirius and injuries, he wasn't all that surprised. This sort of thing just happened to him. So while everyone else was panicking and rushing altogether to help the two injured Marauders, he calmly went over to the fireplace to call Poppy. Moody, the other person with his head screwed on straight, marshalled the rest of them into order.

The fire flared green. Severus held out a hand to help the healer through. She shot him a grateful smile, and his heart turned over all of a sudden. He started. What the hell had that been? He stared as she moved confidently into the room, her attention immediately focused on the injured parties, and he felt a strange ache in his chest. But the damage there had been healed. There shouldn't be any problems anymore. So why ...?

He shook himself. Now was not the time. If there was a problem, it wasn't urgent, and there were people here in far worse straits, if Lupin's moans were anything to go by. More worrying, though, was Black's silence. Potter had said both were hurt, and Black had a tendancy to raise the roof with complaints over a splinter. If he was silent, then he was _really_ in trouble. It would be his own fault, like as not, especially since he shouldn't have been outside to get injured in the first place, but that wasn't the point.

He slipped into the cluster of Weasleys around the patients, peering over one twin's shoulder, and had to suppress a wince. Lupin looked fairly rough, with a broken leg and some contusions, most likely from a fall, but Black was a _mess_. He looked like he'd been mauled by a troll with a toothache and a big club, which, knowing Black, was quite possible. One shoulder was sticky with blood, his robes were in shreds, and most worrying of all, there was an obvious head wound. Severus heard Harry choke back a cry at the sight, and wondered how Molly and Arthur must have felt on seeing him. It wasn't much of an issue when you were the one hurt, but it was actually more difficult to see someone else wounded. For some reason, even though it was _Black_ lying there, it still hurt to see him like that. Strange.

"Stand back, all of you!" Poppy demanded, waving them away so she could get close. Looking her charges over, she frowned, leaning in to examine them while simultaneously casting a diagnostic. Whatever she found, it didn't ease the harsh frown on her face. She shook her head, and began pulling things from her satchel. "Alastor! Severus! You know some field medicine. Give me a hand here." She didn't look up, expecting automatically to be obeyed. And she was. This was her arena, and here you did what she said.

Moody and Severus barely even glanced at each other as they stepped up to help. They both knew the drill, having patched themselves up on the fly often enough, as well as the occasional ally. Moody knew more about treating other people than Severus, who had to admit that most of his experience was in healing himself, but on the other hand, Severus knew more about healing potions than anyone else, including Poppy.

The healer caught Moody's eye, and jerked her head towards Lupin. "Do what you can for him, Alastor. Severus, I need your help with Sirius. And _don't_ bring your stupid rivalry with you! He's too far gone for messing around. Clear?" There was steel in her voice, and both men nodded hurriedly.

Moody glanced over Lupin's leg with his magical eye, finding the breaks before going to fix them, but Severus hadn't time to pay attention. Poppy directed him to hold Black's head steady while she examined the wound, and the minute he'd laid hands on the man's shoulders to support the head, he felt a disturbing shift of bone against bone in the skull. Fractured. _Not_ good. Not good at all. He knew Poppy didn't have an _Intrasang _potion in her field kit, and trying to handle the internal bleeding whilst at the same time fixing the skull was a risky manouver at best.

"George," he murmured to the nearest twin. "Cupboard under the sink. Behind the pipe. Chest. Password's 'obstreperous'. Get me the potions kit inside, and _hurry_!" Poppy glanced up at him. "Intrasang," he informed her tersely. She nodded, relief evident before she bent back to her task. George scrabbled about under the sink for a minute, then returned with the kit. Severus directed him to open it, and told him which phial to choose, not daring to take his own hands away from the fragile head cradled between them. When the red-haired boy held up the correct potion, Severus nodded. "Two fingers. The cap. Two of them. Good. Thanks."

As the potion took effect, the angry red of the diagnostic spell calmed slightly, not just in the head, but in the chest under the shoulder wound. The blow must have crushed the shoulder blade down into the upper chest cavity. It would be making breathing difficult, but was nowhere near as serious as the head wound. Still, it couldn't be ignored for long, and would ordinarily have been enough on its own to make Poppy frown. Combined with the fractured skull, it was not making the healer happy. For some reason, that upset him.

"Dammit, Black," he muttered angrily. "I thought your skull was thicker than this. What the hell did you piss off this time, a troll?" Poppy couldn't spare the attention to give him a dirty look, but he felt her _intention_ to glare anyway. But that was the least of his worries. Turning to George, he snapped out instructions for finding three more of his potions. While the boy was rooting for them, he focused on a wandless spell to bring the wayward shoulder blade back into alignment. Wandless magic generally didn't have the finesse for such delicate work, being primarily battle-magic stimulated by adrenalin, but channeled through the Dragonblade arm, which with its unicorn-hair ligiments formed a rudimentary channel similar to a wand in direct contact with the affected area, the spell was good enough. The Intrasang potion already at work fixed the blood vessels damaged by the move anyway.

George, having looked up after finding his targets, turned rather green at the sight of the bone moving under the skin. Severus snapped at him impatiently. They couldn't afford for him to be sick. Aside from the time lost while he was busy vomiting, the risk of infection was too great. The boy blinked at the harsh tone, but swallowed the urge to puke. Really, he should have known better. Field medics were famously either the most laid-back people on the battlefield, or the most fearsome. Guess which category the ex-Death Eater potions master fell into.

The first potion was a salve to aid repair muscle damage. That was slathered generously over the battered shoulder. The second phial of that was tossed over to Moody for Lupin's contusions. The third and final phial Severus eased between Black's slack lips, and emptied. A modified version of a Pepper-Up, it would kick-start the body's own healing systems, letting the unconscious Black help himself and them. Then, having done as much as he could for the other injuries, Severus turned his attention back to Poppy's bent head as she focused on the far more delicate and dangerous task of healing the fractured skull. Broken bones were theoretically easy to fix, with a wand and some knowhow, but skull injuries were just that little bit more complicated. The wound took all the healer's attention.

As she worked, Severus could feel the miniscule shifts in the skull through the skin of his forearms as they lay alongside Black's head. The sheer delicacy of her work awed him. It was clear what difference there was between his and Moody's version of healing, which mostly involved sticking back in anything that was hanging out and putting any bones that had been rearranged back into roughly the right order, and the true healer's art that Poppy wielded. She'd trained, but anyone could do that. A true healer had an instinct for the way things should be done, for the balance that should exist in a human body. From the way her tiny wandstrokes reconstructed a damaged skull with infinite precision, it was obvious that she had that instinct.

The strange ache in his chest bloomed again, startling him. Watching her hair fall from her bun to lie against her face because she was too absorbed to tuck it back, his heart gave a queer little trip. He felt a quick flash of panic, not knowing what it was, and afraid that maybe his last brush with death had done permanent damage, he decided to ask Poppy about it as soon as they were done. Then, just as quickly, he overturned the idea. It was around Poppy that it happened, and some instinct told him not to mention it to her until he knew what it was. Maybe he'd try Moody first, or Molly. Molly's mother had had a heart problem, he remembered. She'd know if the same thing was wrong with him. He hoped. It was worth a try.

A flare in the diagnostic brought him out of his musings as the last bone splinter slipped back into place. The red faded away, leaving a dirty purple colour that indicated that the area was still in bad shape, but the worst was over. The spellcloud over the shoulder and chest was nearly back to healthy blue, so his makeshift operation had worked, so far anyway. Black wasn't out of the woods yet, but at least if he died now, they could say it was entirely his own fault because they'd done everything they could and it was up to his body's natural healing now. Good enough. Black had always been nothing if not stubborn. Severus highly doubted he'd up and croak this late in the game.

Poppy leaned back, resting her fists on the table to support a weary frame as she closed her eyes tiredly. Her focus had been absolute, and now she was paying the price. Many people couldn't understand how standing over someone muttering could be so utterly exhausting, but holding that exacting a focus for so long was straining, to say the least. All the worse for the adrenalin that came with trying to save lives. Healers were the ultimate adrenalin-junkies, and burned out faster than a dozen aurors. Apparently, over a third of the patients in the 'nutters ward', as it was cheerfully called, at St. Mungo's were the hospital's own ex-healers after nervous breakdowns. Poppy was doing extraordinarily well to have managed so long. The school alone was as much a disaster zone as St. Mungo's ever was, not to mentin her duties with the Order. Severus had to admire her tenacity.

She opened her eyes to look at him, and nodded thankfully. He returned the gesture. The healer turned away to check Moody and his patient. From where Severus stood, Lupin looked pretty okay, and Poppy had a nod for Moody too, so he must have done alright. They were in the clear.

The Weasleys, under Molly's competant direction, soon had the unfortunate pair bundled up and headed for bedrooms upstairs to convalesce. Moody set about making more coffee for the strung-out group, and Poppy gracefully retired to her quarters in Hogwarts so she could collapse in peace. Severus slowly packed away his emergency kit, making a mental note to replace the potions they'd used, and pondered the bizarre behaviour of his heart whenever Poppy was there. He hoped it was nothing serious, but given his life so far, that was a fool's hope. Still, he'd just have to deal with whatever it was. If he could handle losing an arm, he could handle this.

He hoped.

Well? Next chapter, Molly explains to Severus what his heart trouble is, and she and Albus team up to come down on the wayward Marauders like the proverbial ton of bricks. Till then, good luck, and see if you can drop me a review on the way out! Happy landings, y'all!


	15. Affairs of the Heart

I _know_ I haven't updated anything in absolutely ages! I know, believe me. But I've been running around like a headless chicken these last few weeks getting ready to start college, and now I'm going in a few days, and I won't be able to update _anything_ for the next while. So, for the record, Sister 1 is officially out of the running for the next couple of months or so, so any HP fics on this profile will be on hiatus for the duration. Sorry, and hope to get back to y'all sometime soon. Till then, here's the next chapter of Knight. Enjoy.

Chapter 15: Affairs of the Heart

Molly sat in the kitchen, elbows leaning on the table, her aching head cradled in her hands. Arthur sat beside her, arm around her, his chin resting on top of her head. She leant into him, savouring the quiet moment, and the strength his presence brought her. She needed it. Right then, she so badly needed his strength and silent reassurance. She needed her Arthur, with his childlike joys, and his protective fury, and his ridiculously warm love for her. She needed him, because she was about ready to break.

"How many, Arthur?" she whispered into her hands. His arm tightened around her shoulders. "How many of them are we going to see hurt? First Severus nearly ... nearly _dies_, and then that bastard sends Harry those horrible nightmares, and now Remus and Sirius ... Why _now_? Why does it all happen now? Who's going to be next? Ron? The twins? Percy?" She paused, drawing a desperate breath. "You? Is it going to be you next? Arthur? What do I do? What the hell can I do to protect all of you? Please tell me! Please ..."

She trailed off, voice choked by tears. The vision of her boggart rose like a banshee in her mind, her children, her husband, dead and dying, in such pain, and she couldn't help them. She couldn't do one single useful thing to help them! Why was it so unfair?

"Molly, shhhh," Arthur murmured, holding her tight. "Oh Molly, please don't think that way. I'm still here. I'll always be here for you. As if I could leave you. My Mollywobbles. Shhhh. They're strong, Molly. They're all so very strong. We won't lose them. Ron and Harry, Severus, Fred and George, Percy, the Order ... They're all fighting with everything they have to survive. They'll make it. _We'll_ make it. Please believe me, Molly."

"But I can't help them, Arthur," she cried despairingly. "I'm so _useless_! I'm just a stupid woman minding a stupid house!What good am I to the Order? To _anyone_? The Order and Harry and Severus, they can all fight, and you and Percy can spy and find out things, and Dumbledore does _everything_, and all I can do is cook some stupid meals and try not to go mad! _What good am I!_ What's the point in me bein ... "

He moved. He pulled her sideways out of her chair and held her by the shoulders so he could stare her in the eyes. She gasped. She'd rarely seen him look so angry. Arthur looked furious. The muddled tinkerer was gone, and in his place was the avatar that had faced down the Order for Severus and scared the living daylights out of her twins when they went too far. He glared at her, and it wasn't just anger, but love. She stared.

"Don't you say that!" he snarled. "Don't you ever say that! You are _not_ useless, you foolish woman! You're everything to us! Don't you see! You're the heart and soul of the Order! Why do you think we're so strong? Why do you think Ron and Harry and Percy and me have the strength to fight? Because of _you_. Because you're there for us. Do you think Severus would have survived if you hadn't been there? Do you think Percy could stand up to being hated if he didn't know how much you love him? Do you think I ... do you honestly think I could live a day without you? Do you think I could ever have the courage to stand up and fight if I didn't have your love?"

He cupped her face in his hands and brushed away her tears, even as his own trickled down his cheeks. "Molly," he whispered. "Gods, Molly, I love you so much it hurts. It rips my heart out to see you hurt like this. That's why I'd fight. For you, and for our children and friends. Because you mean the world to me, and you mean so much to everyone. You keep us sane. Maybe we can fight, but you give us a _reason_, and that makes you one of the most important, _useful_, people here. So don't ever let me hear you say otherwise again. You hear me?"

She swallowed, hard, and leant forwards into him. He wrapped his arms back around her, and she hugged him back, holding him to her with all the power and desperation of love. "Arthur. Oh gods, Arthur. I'm so sorry."

"I know, Molly. I know."

"He's right, you know." A soft voice intruded gently on them. Molly gasped, jerking up and around to face the doorway. To face Severus. "If you asked anyone here, they'd tell you the same. You're our haven, our reason. You're everyone's mother. You give us a reason to fight, and a safe place to return to when we can't. You're our hope. You're _my_ hope. Don't forget that. Listen to your husband. He gets an amazing amount of things right, when it's important."

She blinked up at him, at Arthur beside her, swallowing. Arthur smiled at Severus, a grateful smile, answered with an acknowledging nod. Molly stared at them. Then she looked down at herself, at her hands knotted together in her lap with worry, at her deshivelled appearance from being wrapped around her husband. She could feel the warmth of her face, feel the slight stickiness from her tears.

"Oh dear," she muttered, biting her lip.

"What is it?" Arthur asked at once. She looked at him, looked him straight in the eyes, letting him see her shame and gratitude and love. His concern melted into a look of warm, confused love that sent tingles through her stomach. She smiled.

"I must look a right mess. What would everyone think, hmm? Some haven I look, sitting here blubbering like a baby. What would everyone think?" Arthur only smiled.

"They'd think that you were having a well-deserved breakdown, and do their utmost to try and cheer you up," Severus stated confidently, moving across to sit on the opposite side of the table. "After all the times you pulled each of us back together, by bullying us or cajolling us, or conspiring with portraits to distract us from our misery ... There is little any of us wouldn't do to help you feel better. Especially your family and I. We ... love you."

He looked away at that, as if ashamed that he had presumed to make such a statement. This son was still so very damaged. Molly looked fondly at him, and made up her mind. If they valued her support so very much, then she would give it to them. All of them. Her sons and daughter, her adopted sons, her friends and colleagues, and Arthur. Always Arthur. No matter what, she vowed to be there for them, _all_ of them, and heaven help anyone who tried to tell her otherwise.

She reached out across the table and took Severus' hand in hers. He looked up, startled, and she smiled warmly at him. "We love you too, Severus. Don't you forget it, either."

He dipped his head, but she could see him bite his lip to hold back a shy smile. The warmth of love that half hidden gesture made her feel ... Ah, but what had she been thinking? Of course she belonged here! Of course she belonged with these people, and of course she had a role to play among them. They belonged to her, every single one of them, and she would _never_ let them down, never give up on a single one of them. For better or worse, they were stuck with her.

"Are you alright, Severus?" Arthur asked quietly. "Did you need something?"

"Oh!" Molly exclaimed. "Oh, how silly of me. Yes. Were you looking for someone, Severus?"

He looked away for a minute, pulling himself together. "Uh, yes, actually. I was looking for you. But it doesn't matter. I'm sure it can wait, if you and Arthur are ... busy." He blushed slightly, and Molly bit back a wicked grin. It made him look so _cute_. You so rarely saw Severus embarrassed, that she just _had_ to make the most of it.

"Why would you think we were busy, Severus?" she asked slyly. Arthur looked at her, surprised, and recognised the look in her eyes. He shook his head in exasperation, but she knew he loved her antics. Severus, on the other hand ...

"Oh, um, I thought ... That is ... you seemed so upset, that I thought you and Arthur might want to ..."

"To comfort each other?" she finished, grinning. Severus' blush deepened. "We're not teenagers anymore, you know, Severus."

"Though that never stopped us before," Arthur muttered in her ear, low and suggestively. She stiffled a giggle, a little red tinting her own cheeks. There were times when her husband put teenagers to shame, and the way his arm curled around her shoulders, one hand resting ever so lightly on her arm ...

Severus coughed, standing to leave. "Well, I'll, um, leave you ... leave you to ... it. Um, yes. Excuse me." And he turned, balanced on his toes as if ready to flee. Shaking her head, Molly called after him.

"Oh, no, Severus," she laughed. "No, please don't leave. I was only playing with you, that's all. Please, come back and tell us what you need. I'm sure Arthur can wait ... ?" She smiled at her husband, playfully. He smiled back.

"Of course. So long as it's not for too long. You know I can't keep my hands off you, my Mollywobbles." He winked at her, wickedly, but she couldn't help getting the impression that he was more relieved than anything else. She had no idea it scared him so much to see her upset. In a way, it was strangely comforting. "Come back, lad. What is it?"

Severus sat back down, watching them warily, as if at any moment he expected them to start kissing like horny teenagers in front of him. Molly blushed delightedly. Oh, this would do absolute wonders for her reputation among the Order. Absolutely.

"Well, it's just ... It's probably nothing, but I keep getting ... pains, in my heart. I don't know why, and I thought that since your father had heart troubles, Molly ... I thought you might be able to tell me if something was wrong."

And, that quickly, the playfulness was gone. Both she and Arthur sat up straight in concern, a frown already appearing on her husband's face. If Severus was sick ... That was no joke. And so soon after his injuries. Oh!

"Do you think it might be because of ...?"

Severus nodded. "It only started recently. That's what I'm afraid of, yes."

Arthur nodded. "Alright. Tell us when it happens, what it feels like, how badly it hurts."

Severus looked down at the table, hands twisting in his lap. He looked nervous. "Well, you see, that's it. This is going to sound very strange, and maybe it's simply some kind of stress reaction to what happened, but ... It only happens when ... when Poppy is near. It's ... strange. It feels like ... like my heart turns over in my chest. It hurts, but in the achy kind of way that old scars hurt, you know? As if my heart always hurt around her. I don't know what it is, and I was hoping that you ..." He stopped, having looked up and caught sight of their faces.

"What! What is it?" he asked, sounding a touch panicked. She supposed she couldn't blame him, as her face must have been quite a sight, but all she could think was: Finally! Poppy had been waiting for so long, and he had never even realised ... Oh dear. If he truly didn't know what it was he felt ... How to explain?

"Um, Severus, dear ... Well. This is going to be ... rather awkward."

"What? What is it? Tell me!"

"Severus," Arthur began, frowning slightly. "I'm afraid what you have ... It's not what you think you have. It's something altogether more ... serious, I'm afraid."

He looked between them, worry and confusion on his face. "What? Tell me."

"Severus, dear ..." Molly sighed. "I'm afraid you're in love."

"What!" He looked positively affronted.

"Molly's right," Arthur confirmed. "Everything you've said ... plus the way you look at her ... the signs are all there. You've joined those of us poor saps who happen to be head over heels for some pretty face ... Ow!" He flinched back from her punch, rubbing his arm. "What I mean to say is, you're obviously in love with Poppy. And deeply too, if your heart does that in her presence without you even _knowing_ how you feel. There's no help for it once it gets like that, I'm afraid." And he slid a glance her way, a knowing look, and she remembered how he had gone about convincing _her_ heart that he was the one it wanted to jump at.

Now that the initial shock and affront had faded, the panic had set back in. Severus looked ready to up and flee, to Alaska if need be. For some reason, she found that both terribly funny, and horribly sad. This boy wouldn't bat an eyelid at getting tortured almost to death, would face going back among demons again and again, and at the thought of love, of happiness, he would run a mile in sheer shock and panic. That said a lot for the kind of life he'd been forced to live.

"But ..." Severus stuttered. "I can't! There's a war on, and I ... and she ... even if I was ... I've nothing to offer someone like her, and ..."

"Oh, bull!" Molly barked at him, severely startling him. "Bull! You call yourself a spy? I thought you could read people! When she brought your arm, don't tell me you couldn't _see_ how she felt about you? Don't tell me you couldn't see how much she loved you! I didn't think you were a fool!"

He blanched, leaning back from her, looking striken. But before she could apologise, his expression changed. Shock slipped away, and a frown replaced it, a look of consideration and not a little wonder. He was silent for a long moment, thinking.

"Are ... Are you sure?" he asked finally.

She would have snapped at him, told him that yes, of course she was sure, or she wouldn't have said anything, but he looked so young, so vunerable. She remembered how nervous and scared she had been when she and Arthur had been starting out, how her knees had almost given out when he asked her to go with him to graduation, how her heart had all but stopped when he got down on his knees in front of her. It was a frightening thing, love, especially at a time like this, as she herself had only just proven. But it was worth it. She knew that, looking at Arthur. It was worth all that, and a hundred, billion times more. But Severus didn't know that, and wouldn't until experience taught it to him.

"Severus," she said gently. "The only way you'll know for sure is if you _try_. Trust me. Love is worth so much, so very much." Arthur gripped her hand tightly. "It will make you the happiest, most frightened, most courageous person in the world, and give you something that'll keep your heart beating until the life is literally pounded out of you, and beyond. Trust me."

He looked at her strangely. "But ... it hurts?"

She bit her lip, nodding. "Yes. Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes having your heart turn over every time you see the person you love hurts. Sometimes loving someone so much that it makes you sick every time they're not there hurts. Sometimes it hurts to know that one person can hold such power over you. But it's a different kind of pain to the type you're used to. It's not like the kind of pain people like He-who-must-not-be-named bring. It's bittersweet, and it makes the warmth and love all the more precious. It's so very precious."

Arthur smiled sadly, pulling her close to him and placing a tender kiss on her forehead. She laid her head against his collarbone without looking at him, hugging him to her while she looked at her child. "Trust us, Severus. Just try. Just ask her. Trust us." He nodded, grave and serious.

"And if she reaches for a wand or a broom, duck and run, then come back later," Arthur added, cheerfully. Molly growled, pulling back a bit to thump him in the ribs. "Ooof! What? It's sound advice! A woman in the right mood can have a strong arm on her. I should know!"

"Keep at it and you'll see how strong an arm I've got, you old goat!" she growled, fist raised threateningly. Severus looked shocked for a moment, then chuckled.

"You see," Arthur smiled triumphantly. "He agrees with me." He backed away as she advanced, the smile on her face saying clearly: Keep talking if you want a nice big bruise on those jewels of yours. Severus laughed, demeanor lightened considerably. She snarled playfully at him, and he affected the same look of innocence that had served her twins so well. Damn, but he learned fast.

"Shit!" The three of them turned in shock towards the doorway, to stare at the newcomer. Sirius looked back in horror for a moment, then turned and ran back down the hall, staggering drunkenly. "Moony! Moony, help! I've lost it, Moony! That werewolf must've killed my brain! I'm hallucinating! I just listened to Snape getting advice on _love_ from Molly and Arthur! Moony, I've gone insane! Help me, Moony!"

"Damn, shut up, Sirius!" Remus' tired voice growled down the stairs. "You've _always_ been insane. Now get back to bed before you collapse on me again! They're gonna kill us as it is. Please don't annoy them further with your melodramatic racket!"

Arthur looked over at her while she stood there glowering after them, fists clenched. She knew she must look furious, but she _was_. All the time she spent worrying over the Order, over her extended family, and they run off for fun and almost get killed? Damn right she was angry. Then to top it off, they get up when they're nowhere near healed and make themselves worse! Oh, she was gonna kill 'em all right. Damn straight she was going to kill them!

"Severus, call Poppy. We're going to need her," she snarled, striding off after the fleeing Marauder. She caught his look of consternation as she passed, and wondered how wise it was to have him talk with Poppy so soon after his realisation, but they _were_ going to need her.

Because if she had her way, those Marauders were never even going to _think_ about running off again. They were going to be too busy trying not to get her angry ever, _ever_ again.

xXx

That's it for now. Leave feedback? Please? And I will try to update things if I have any time at all. Just ... don't expect too much for the next while, okay? Thank you all.


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